Doctor Who: Parallax - Saints And Sinners
by Montana
Summary: EPISODE VI: After defeating the Dalek, The Doctor decides Rose needs a break from all the chaos and takes her the year 76043 to spend a few days on a luxury starliner touring the Eagle Nebula. It soon becomes clear that something is off, however, when the ship's guests can't seem to stop dancing. Nine/Rose Au/AR
1. Chapter 1

**Obligatory Disclaimer:** I do not own Doctor Who.

**Author's Note:** Here's the sixth episode of the Parallax series!

For those just dropping in, you might want to go back to episodes I – V and catch yourself up. Otherwise, this won't make a ton of sense, being an AU and all. The previous episodes can be found on my profile. Their titles are, in order:

**_Doctor Who: Parallax – I Won't Dance_**

**_Doctor Who: Parallax – Counting Stars_**

**_Doctor Who: Parallax – Shake It Out_**

**_Doctor Who: Parallax – King And Lionheart_**

**_Doctor Who: Parallax – Ghosts That We Knew_**

* * *

The Doctor didn't want to mention anything; he was hardly one to talk, after all; but Rose's obsessiveness of late had begun to worry him. After Torchwood had failed to locate Graham Chamberlain, The Doctor had agreed to spend some time looking for the perpetrator of the devastating attack on Torchwood One. After raising all manner of hell across six continents and at least two dozen Polynesian Islands, it had become clear that the man had ghosted. The Doctor wasn't inclined to admit their quarry had 'disappeared,' that was ludicrous, but it was obvious that Mr. Chamberlain was a man who wouldn't be found if he didn't want to be. When The Doctor had finally convinced Rose to drop the search, just for a time, things had gone from bad to worse.

He admitted he had been just as curious as she about Satellite Five, and so he'd agreed they ought to take a look, just in case. Turned out, there was no Jagrafess to be found, and The Fourth Great and Bountiful Human Empire had, this time, been everything her first Doctor had promised. Not content with that, she'd insisted they jump ahead 100 years only to discover that The Gamestation didn't exist. Satellite Five was still Satellite Five, it was still broadcasting the news, and there was still no Jagrafess. She'd almost seemed disappointed, and he understood why. This was the only place she knew to look, and the absence of Dalek interference on Earth was not evidence of the absence of Daleks. She was slowly growing more frustrated, more paranoid, as each stone turned up nothing.

So, when they'd left Satellite Five and Rose had begun asking about the Dalek homeworld, The Doctor had immediately shut her down. Skaro was a radioactive wasteland after the War, deadly to humans and Time Lords alike, but his warnings didn't faze her. These last three days, lingering in the Time Vortex to make repairs, Rose had taken every opportunity to plead, threaten, or reason with him. At one point, she'd drug him into the Media Room to show him a PowerPoint presentation she'd made enumerating all of her arguments. She was growing increasingly desperate and anxious, and by this point, he denied her more out of concern for her obsession than because he had any legitimate counterarguments. She really was frighteningly adept in her logic when it was to her advantage to be so.

So, after Rose had gone to bed the night before, The Doctor had made something of an executive decision. Rose needed a break, something to take her mind off Chamberlain and the Daleks and the "other" companion (frankly, he'd thought the latter to be ludicrous, he'd no interest in taking on another companion; the notion of sharing her attention with anyone made him irritable). He'd contemplated a number of beautiful, relaxing places to take her, including Barcelona and Woman Wept, but in the end he decided he wanted to show her something new. He wanted to take her someplace she'd never been, and he wanted to get her out of the TARDIS and away from her PowerPoints and her hastily scribbled notes and, most importantly, away from the TARDIS library where she'd spent nearly every waking hour doing all her bloody research after he stopped answering her questions.

In the end, he could think of nothing more stunning, nothing that would put things more drastically in perspective, than a visit to the Eagle Nebula. Also called the Star Queen Nebula, it was a massive cluster of newly formed stars, protostars, and unfathomable expanses of molecular clouds that formed stars. It boasted numerous breathtaking formations such as the Pillars of Creation and the Stellar Spire. It was, in essence, an interstellar nursery, and he knew the only way to see it properly, other than aboard the TARDIS, was on a Class I Luxury Starliner. The implications of this horrified him, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He'd reconciled himself with the consequences and parked the TARDIS in the aft luggage compartment of the H.M.S. Aberdeen.

"Who are you, and what have you done with The Doctor?" Rose's voice shook him from his heavy introspection, and The Doctor looked up from the galley table to see her, freshly showered and already with a stack of references under one arm, staring at him like he'd grown a second head. He'd likely have been more comfortable if he had.

"Good morning, Rose," he acknowledged, ignoring her clearly rhetorical question and taking a sip of his tea. When she continued staring at him with equal parts confusion and fascination, he sighed and put down his cuppa. "There's a dress code on this trip," he informed gruffly, "If you haven't anything appropriate with you, you might want to pop by the wardrobe." She kept staring, and he began to feel just a little insecure, "'S there a problem?"

"No," she assured quickly, "No, 's just – Never seen you like that before." Rose had woken up that morning, having hardly slept for all the questions and plans running around her head, eager to take up her research once more and finally convince The Doctor to intensify their search. Now, the heavy volumes hung forgotten in her hands as she took in every detail of the dark, charcoal gray three-piece suit so finely fitted it would make a man walking out of a Savile Row tailor shop look like a hobo. He wore a midnight blue shirt underneath and no tie, the top two buttons left undone.

"Right, well, first time for everything," he grinned briefly and drained the last of his Darjeeling before standing and crossing to the sink. Rose watched him like a hawk the whole way, unable to stop her head tilting slightly to the side as her gaze traveled from the broad, angular shoulders down the lines of that incredible suit and his ridiculously long legs to the black wing-tips. Then, because the journey had just been so very lovely the first time, her eyes travelled back up. He had no right, no bloody right, to look that good. She was a bit late reacting when he finally turned around, hands in his pockets, and as she closed her gaping mouth and straightened her posture, she saw the slightly wry quirk to his lips.

"What do you think?" he asked, almost cheerfully, but she could hear the ring of arrogance, there, "Not bad, eh?"

"I'm – I'm just going to go, uh, visit the wardrobe," she replied, pointing vaguely in what might have possibly been more-or-less the general direction of the aforementioned room. She couldn't help raking her gaze over him one last time before darting from the room. It wasn't until several minutes later, after depositing the books back in the library, that she realized she hadn't had her tea.

* * *

The Doctor was in the console room, concentrating on the monitor, when Rose finally emerged. Determined not to be outdone by the taciturn Time Lord, she'd gone full tilt at the labyrinthine wardrobe room. As it turned out, her bloody-minded determination had been largely unnecessary. Almost immediately upon entering the room, she'd found the ideal item hanging on the end of the first rack of clothes on the left just inside the entrance. A quick change had confirmed it was a perfect fit, and she'd returned to her room to see to her hair and apply just a touch of makeup. Finally, she'd rummaged through her belongings for a simple, tasteful pair of black pearl stud earrings and replaced her ragtag collection of bracelets with the bangles she'd worn to Pete's party. She'd been more than a little hesitant to wear them, but her usual bracelets wouldn't do and she refused to take off her old Doctor's watch.

As Rose stepped into the console room, she was more than a little gratified at earning a long, speechless look from the man who'd rendered her mute and dumb for five solid minutes that morning. The dress she'd found; or rather, she suspected, that the TARDIS found for her; was a silvery blue, knee-length cashmere sheath with a boat neck and three-quarter sleeves. Paired with midnight blue silk heels and the understated earrings, she knew how much the well-mannered young lady she looked. Still, seeing The Doctor once again in that dashing suit gave her more than a few doubts that the full weight of her objective had truly been accomplished.

"You look beautiful," he said without a hint of guile on his face. 'Good enough,' she thought.

"Considering?" she supplied for him, smiling and tilting her head up, knowing exactly the effect it had with her hair gathered up and the neckline of the dress displaying the subtle curves of her collar bones.

"Considering what?" he asked, taking the bate and letting his eyes drift over the graceful lines of her neck.

"Considering I'm human," she stuck her tongue between her teeth. Her playful poking had the opposite of the desired effect, though, as her words seemed to shake him of his absentmindedness and he gave her a perfunctory nod before returning his attention to the monitor. God, and why did _that_ bother her?

"We have landed in the year 76043 on a luxury starliner by the name of H.M.S. Aberdeen."

"Her Majesty's Ship?" Rose asked, ignoring the unpleasant twinge of – whatever – that his sudden return to the business at hand had elicited, "They're still doin' that seventy-four thousand years in the future?"

"You humans like things familiar," he said by way of his usual condescending explanations.

"And we Brits do enjoy our traditions," Rose concluded, "So, why are we here? Murder? Kidnapping? Impending iceberg?"

"The Aberdeen is currently cruising in and around a formation known as the Eagle Nebula," The Doctor went on, hoping he could glide easily past the mention of catastrophe, "The ship is hired out only to the great and the good, first class accommodations all the way."

"Right," Rose said, suddenly catching on, "The stewards aren't going to let some navvy go wanderin' around their boat, psychic paper or no."

"Oi!" The Doctor protested.

"Oh, don't be so sensitive. I like your jeans and jumpers and that worn out old coat," Rose insisted, slapping him playfully on the arm, "Though I have to say, this is a good look for you."

"Don't get used to it," he warned, though he couldn't help a satisfied grin tugging at his lips.

"Right, then, so what's the emergency?" Rose asked, and The Doctor cringed inwardly.

"There is no emergency," he dismissed the notion as casually as he could, "We're here for the fun of it." For a moment she just stared at him, blinking.

"I'm sorry," she finally said.

"Fun, Rose, fun," he repeated, knowing his joviality sounded more than a little forced. He had a lot riding on this, "You know, that thing that's the opposite of what we've been doin' the last, oh, three weeks or so." She considered him closely, disbelief and suspicion growing in her eyes.

"What's this about?" she asked, "We had a purpose, a plan, and all the sudden it's a bank holiday?"

"_You_ have a plan," he said, his face falling serious, "And I still think it's a terrible plan. Rose, we need a bit of a breather."

"You mean me," she accused, eyes narrowing, "_I_ need a breather." The Doctor's mouth fell open, meaning to deny it outright.

"Sort of, yeah," he said, instead. He wondered sometimes if he _wanted_ to get smacked.

"I can't believe this," she shook her head, "I thought you'd finally come around. I thought this was something important."

"This is important," he insisted, "What good is savin' the universe if you never stop to appreciate what it is you're savin'?"

"There's plenty of time," she said, spreading her arms out in exasperation, "We travel around in a time machine. The cruises can wait until after we find the Daleks."

"Forget the bloody Daleks!" he shouted, weeks of pent up worry coalescing into that one outburst. At the look of shock in her eyes, he immediately schooled himself, "Listen, Rose, I know what it's like. I do. And trust me, you don't want to let this become your life. After everything that's happened, no one wants to find out if any others survived more than me. But we looked, Rose, in all the places you knew they might be, and we can't keep goin' like this. We can't search the entire universe for them. It isn't possible."

"But..."

"No, Rose," The Doctor took her shoulders in his hands, "Please, trust me. Just – just come out on the observation deck with me. Five minutes, and if you don't want to stay – if you don't want to stay I'll take us straight to Skaro. We'll scour the whole, damned planet. Together. Just give me this, Rose." She didn't answer right away, instead, biting her lower lip and searching his face. She was more than a little surprised to see the concern etched along his brow. It scared her a little to think she hadn't noticed anything at all wrong with her behavior.

"OK," she nodded, forcing a smile, "Five minutes."


	2. Chapter 2

**Obligatory Disclaimer: **I do not own Doctor Who.

**Mauve Guest:** Ah, yes. That uncomfortable moment when you realize your own happiness is contingent upon someone else's. Poor Doctor. **Blue Stone Shining Wolf:** You don't get to come back from your Google expedition unless you bring enough for the whole class. :D Actually, judging by the way he got all serious after she pointed out the whole "human" thing, it does bother him. It just didn't occur to him as quickly while he was busy oggling. **Dreamcatcher49:** Thank you so much! **Royslady51:** Yeah, we all make mistakes. And yeah, but I don't think he's all that consciously aware that he's making any display. :D He just wanted to outdo Ten. **TK:** Hahaha, yes, their 'almost kinda sorta not quite' flirting is terribly fun. Aaand, one has to imagine the older, wiser Rose appreciates this Doctor much more than she did at 19/20. He's not as fun nor as hip as Ten, but infinitely more genuine.

* * *

To say that The Doctor had had a point was to severely understate the matter. The observation deck of the H.M.S. Aberdeen was, in truth, the entire top deck of a spacecraft that closely resembled a seafaring vessel from Earth. Evidently, the starliner generated a sort of atmospheric 'bubble,' not unlike the TARDIS, which allowed the guests to view the wonders of the Eagle Nebula unimpeded. To be honest, the concept had nearly startled the pants off Rose, whose first instinct was to compare all this to Platform One. If you nearly get incinerated by a failing sunshield, you start being very particular about your shields.

However, The Doctor had assured her that the technology was long-tested and the starliner's energy shields sound. In fact, he'd explained as he'd led her out onto the observation deck with her arm linked through his, the shields not only kept the atmosphere in and asteroids out, it filtered the full spectrum of potentially harmful radiation that might come off certain parts of the nebula. He went on to explain that the ship generated a magnetic field that deflected any significantly ferrous space debris before it could reach the shields. It was perhaps the most thoughtful and romantic safety lecture she'd ever heard. Not that it was a high bar to meet.

As soon as she'd gotten past her initial trepidation, Rose became wholly transfixed with the view from topside. The starliner, at that moment, was surrounded on all sides by dense, vibrantly colored molecular clouds through which the faint glimmers of millions of distant stars and protostars sparkled as they came in and out of focus. Everywhere she looked, she saw diaphanous shades of magenta, red, and violet cast against the vast, dark depths of the universe beyond. The enormity of this vast and magnificent sight, still so very tiny in the colossal scale of the universe, poured over her like a fresh, spring downpour. She felt truly awake and self-aware for the first time in weeks.

The Doctor, for his part, was utterly relieved by her shift in mood. He'd darted a cautious glance at her face once or twice as they'd stepped out onto the observation deck, but now that her attention was so obviously fixed on the wonders around her, he was at his leisure to examine her more thoroughly. He thought he saw the exact moment when the scale of the nebula, both its remarkable grandeur and its unspeakable insignificance, hit her full force, and he wanted to crow his victory. This was how Rose should be: awestruck and indescribably happy, not desperate and bloody-minded. He was fully cognizant of the irony of this thought. Suddenly the awful suit and damned uncomfortable shoes were unquestionably worth it.

Speaking of, The Doctor looked down, considering his changed attire. True, he felt terribly unsettled and not half vulnerable without his heavy boots and utilitarian jeans and leather jacket, but he was also perfectly aware of how well he looked. It wasn't an accident. He'd met the tenth Doctor, his immediate successor, and as soon as it had become apparent that he would be forced to wear something more 'appropriate' for this little excursion, he'd been single-minded in his determination to differentiate himself from that insufferable dandy. No quirky shoes, no comfortably wrinkled shirts, no funky hair, no casual overcoat. If he was going to do this at all, he was going to do it right, and Rose's reaction had validated his success.

"So," The Doctor finally said, looking at his watch and careful to use a soft tone so as not to disturb her, "Time's up." Rose didn't respond immediately, but when she finally faced him, the answer was clear. Still, he waited for her answer as a grin pulled irresistibly at his lips.

"Oh, don't be so smug," she finally said, slipping hand from the crook of his arm and slapping him on the shoulder, "Of course we're stayin.'"

"Ow," he defended, making a show of rubbing the spot she'd hit and earning a poke in the ribs. Laughing, he crossed his arms and smiled down at her.

"Worth the delay?" he asked, and she might have called him on his arrogance once more if she hadn't seen that shadow of concern still hovering behind those cool blue eyes.

"Absolutely," she breathed, looking up at the molecular cloud once more. She only got a quick glance before they heard a man's voice calling their attention from a distance. Rose and The Doctor turned to see a steward approaching them from across the deck.

"Ah, here we are," The Doctor said, more to himself than anyone as he fished the psychic paper out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

"Sure this is going to work?" Rose asked.

"We look the part," The Doctor provided, lifting his chin a bit, "Just act important."

"I am important," she said, blithely.

"Yes, you are," he agreed, glancing down at her briefly, and she was glad he turned away before she felt the blush creep into her cheeks.

"That said," she spoke through her teeth as she smiled pleasantly at the polite-but-officious looking man as he drew nearer, "I've been ejected from far less posh places than this."

"Don't doubt it a bit," he said with genuine mirth. The steward was maybe five yards away, now, and a thought occurred to Rose.

"You're not going with John Smith again, are you?"

"Why not?" The Doctor asked, a bit perplexed.

"Not very original, is it?" she pointed out, "Besides, I think 'Betty Rubble' was more believable."

"Fine," he whispered before addressing the ship official, "Afternoon. What can I do for you?"

"Sorry to disturb you, sir. Miss," he nodded to them each in turn. He was respectful out of deference to their sharp dress, but clearly curious and a touch suspicious, "I'm afraid in all the confusion of making way, I don't recall your names. I usually remember everyone's names. My sincerest apologies if I've lapsed in my duties, but could I trouble you for your tickets?" Even seventy-four thousand years in the future, the British could never be faulted for their manners.

"No problem at all," The Doctor smiled, and Rose was amazed at how deftly he managed to suppress his natural accent. He handed over the psychic paper, "Doctor George Slate and my colleague, Doctor Elizabeth Rubble," It took every ounce of self-control Rose possessed not to roll her eyes, hit him, or burst out laughing. In fact, she was quite proud of herself for maintaining her calm, slightly aloof demeanor and pleasant smile. The steward studied the document closely, and for a second Rose thought they might have been made. Then, the steward closed the billfold and handed it back to The Doctor with a pleasant smile.

"My sincerest apologies Dr. Slate," the steward nodded first to The Doctor and then to Rose, "Dr. Rubble. Please, enjoy the tour."

"Not at all," The Doctor assured. He and Rose watched amiably as the man disappeared below deck. As soon as he was out of sight, Rose reached over and gave The Doctor a far more earnest swat on the shoulder.

"Betty bleedin' Rubble?!" she scolded, and though he voiced his now genuine discomfort, he also couldn't keep from laughing. So, she swatted him again, "What is wrong with you?"

"You told me not to use John Smith," he defended, taking one or two cautious steps out of her immediate effective thwacking range, "I got the idea from you."

"I _have_ a name," she reminded, "I don't need a cover name."

"I've a name, too," he pointed out, "Just don't use it, is all."

"But I do use mine," Rose said, then paused a moment, "Wait, you have a real name?"

"Don't say it like that. 'The Doctor' is a _real _name. I didn't just make the word up."

"No, it isn't, it's a title. Lots of people are called 'doctors.'"

"Yes, but there's only one '_Doctor_,'" he said, crossing his arms and lifting his chin, that goofy-yet-imperious smile spread wide across his face. Her first instinct was to knock him down a peg or two, keep that large head from inflating any further, but this was the first time she'd seen this Doctor look so sure, so certain of his title. Almost like he hadn't really believed it all this time. Instead, she smirked and offered the crook of her arm, and he took it.

"So, how'd you come to be The Doctor?" she asked, choosing her wording carefully, reinforcing the notion that 'Doctor' was more than a name. He was, to the last atom, _The_ Doctor. He didn't respond right away, and she worried for a moment that she might have crossed a line.

"It's a custom among my people," he began, far more relaxed than she might have predicted, "Choosing a name that represents who you are, how you see yourself. We have very long lives, Rose, and it's good to have that reminder. To make a promise; to yourself, to the universe; to continue to be that same person. I chose The Doctor because..." He hesitated a moment, searching for an adequate explanation.

"Because all you want is to make people better," she supplied, softly, "whether that means healing or holding back or fighting." He looked down at her, this clever little human. He couldn't have said it better, himself. For a moment, her eyes met his before darting quickly away. "So," she began more breezily, "You chose it, then. It wasn't imposed on you after one too many childhood attempts to con the girls in the schoolyard into playing 'doctor' with you." He laughed heartily at that.

"Certainly not," he affirmed, still chuckling, "You can't call them 'attempts' when you succeed." Rose pushed him with her shoulder, and they both wobbled, arm-in-arm for a couple steps as they continued toward the door that led to the lower decks.

"You're terrible, you are," she laughed back, "What does that make me, then? The Enabler? The Accomplice?"

"The Ringleader," he supplied, "The Instigator."

"Oh, shut it, you," she was still laughing, clinging tightly to his arm and resting her head on his shoulder, "I am glad for the promotion, though. Doctor Rubble."

"Yeah, well, thought you might be tired of everyone taking us for..." he caught himself, though he wasn't sure why, and his twin hearts sank, "What is it with you apes and the word 'companion?' How difficult is that to understand?" For a long moment, Rose didn't respond, and he feared he'd made things irredeemably awkward. He had no way of knowing that her own heart had sunk in tune with his, that somehow the mention of their frequently being 'mistaken' for a couple had affected her in an equally unwarranted and unexpected manner. All he could see as he snuck a quick peek was the vivid pink flush in her ears.

"That's us," she finally said, more controlled than she could have hoped, "Stupid, gossip-mad apes."

"Yes, well, this ship will be mostly 'apes,'" he said, pushing ahead as seamlessly as he could manage, "Some aliens, but not many. Jus' thought it'd be easier for you if they think we're colleagues. Less whispering. Maybe for once the respect you're due."

"Right, well," Rose said, straightening up and taking her arm from his, "Might want to knock that off, then."

"What for?" they were the first words out of his mouth, and he couldn't help the way they sounded a little – hurt. Of course, as soon as he said it, he knew better. He realized, then, that all this time he'd been inadvertently undermining her, the person he trusted and respected most in the whole universe, during almost every adventure they went on. Granted, it was no reflection on her, or on him, simply the side effect of narrow, backwards thinking. Still, it pained him.

"Humans," she shrugged, "We're big on body language. Plus, by this point as a species we've made it our mission to shag every new life form we run across. It's probably a default assumption." He smiled on cue at her joke and recommenced walking beside her, careful not to seem too close, too familiar. Funny, he'd never really noticed it before, his habit of reaching for her hand or taking her arm in his, but now that he was aware and actively trying to avoid it, it drove him a little mad.

"Oh, and Doctor?" her question provided a convenient break in his circular thoughts, and he raised his eyebrows by way of acknowledgement, hands tucked firmly in his pockets, "Please don't do that posh accent again. Ever." He almost had to laugh at the way her nose scrunched up at the notion.

"Not that good at it?"

"No, you pulled it off fine, 's just..." Rose struggled for the right word, "Unsettling. 'S not you."

"Your wish is my command," he said breezily, though, to be honest, her requested had done a lot to reignite that little spark of – whatever – made him so happy and comfortable with her. "So, no Welsh accent, then?"

"Don't even think about it."


	3. Chapter 3

**Obligatory Disclaimer: **I do not own Doctor Who.

**Author's Note:** I am so very, very sorry for the massive delay. I came down with a rather nasty bout of the flu and spent much of last week in a Theraflu-induced stupor. I'm still in the process of catching up on my "real" work, but I managed to get this chapter finished, even if it is a bit late. I will do my best to make up the missing posts, but I can't promise it'll happen this week. At minimum I will try to hit the normal posting days. Thank you so much for your patience.

**Ninthsgirl:** I just love giving The Doctor opportunities to be mischievous. He's so damn good at it. **Mauve Guest:** The Doctor does have a competitive streak in him, a mile wide. Always needs to be "impressive." **Hibari Heza:** But not like sickening cute, right? Legit cute. I-want-to-hate-you-but-I-just-can't cute. **Royslady51:** We may not see Tennant's Doctor as a dandy by comparison to some of the predecessors, but Nine isn't terribly objective on the matter of his immediate successor. I do think she falls into step a bit more naturally and easily with this Doctor than Ten, though. And let's be honest, Rose being Rose is exactly what Nine is so enamored with. **Blue Stone Shining Wolf: **The Oncoming Slouch! Hahahaha. I'm really quite fond of the Welsh accent, as well. In general I'm also just happy I'm gradually getting more adept at differentiating between regional accents. To be fair, they did have two whole chapters without danger last episode and then things went spectacularly downhill. Now we get a peak at what the next challenge(s) is/are. **TK:** I'm so sorry I was out of commission when you posted your latest chapter. I promise I'll get to it as soon as possible. In the meantime, yes, it's great to have some calm-before-the-storm scenes with these two, and they make writing the dialogue so free and fun. Hope you love this chapter, and I've got $5 that says you **Blue Stone** can probably guess Rose's dancing partner... **Katydidtoo:** "Sure it starts out with the dancing and the chatting, but then comes the running and screaming." Most. Appropriate. Description. EVER. They should make that the tag line for the new season of DW.

* * *

"Are you traveling alone, then, Dr. Rubble?" Deloris Walter asked. She was a bright, open woman in her forties with dark auburn hair and one blue and one brown eye at whose table Rose had been seated for dinner. Rose smiled secretly to herself as a server leaned over and placed her dinner plate in front of her; she would find a way to get back at The Doctor for her ludicrous pseudonym. Until then, she would enjoy the gourmet dining offered to the great and the good in the 77th century. The first two courses had been absolutely splendid, and this new seafood option looked equally promising.

"No, I'm traveling with a colleague," she answered, "Dr. Slate. Not too fond of crowds, I'm afraid." As it turned out, dinner on the H.M.S. Aberdeen was a formal affair – back tie – and so Rose found herself seated without accompaniment at a table of six complete strangers. After touring the ship all afternoon, The Doctor had inquired about dinner with the steward. Upon discovering that formal dress would be required, Rose had realized immediately that if she wanted to partake, she would be dining alone. A suit was one thing, but the mutinous look in The Doctor's eyes had made it clear that a tuxedo was right out of the damn question. So, they'd returned to the TARDIS, sneaking carefully back into the aft luggage compartment, so that Rose could change. When she'd left, The Doctor had assured her he'd be there upon her return, though he had mentioned he might have 'a bit of a poke about' the ship while the guests and most of the crew were otherwise occupied.

"That's a shame," Deloris commented, pressing her lips together in anticipation as her own plate was placed in front of her, "I've never met a doctor in neurobionics before. I would very much have liked to leave here saying I've met two." Rose suppressed a broad grin, she'd invented that particular scientific discipline in order to ensure no one could possibly know anything about it and, as a result, find her out.

"Oh, I'm sure we'll run into you around ship. In fact, I'll make a point of it," Rose replied. The Doctor would be thrilled to learn he'd acquired a new doctorate.

"The issue with the labor unions on Hyaphonn, is of course quite troubling," Sir Frederick Roth opined, ignoring the current line of discussion and returning to an earlier topic. He was an older gentleman with a wiry build, depthless brown eyes and a thick head of white hair. Beside him, his 'traveling companion' (and was Rose ever glad The Doctor had elected to introduce her as his 'colleague' this trip), introduced as Mrs. Pace, nodded at nearly every word he said. She was perhaps in her mid-to-late thirties with lovely chestnut hair pulled into a graceful chignon. Rose pegged her for a high-ranking professional of some sort, judging by her constantly assessing gaze and unabashed demeanor. From time to time she would add something thoroughly insightful to Sir Frederick's knowledgeable, albeit dull, narrative.

Upon entering the grand dining room; which was lushly appointed with floor-to-ceiling windows along both the port and starboard sides, meeting at the bow, and a massive titanium chandelier free-floating over a marble dance floor; Rose had found herself seated with Sir Frederick and Mrs. Pace as well as Deloris and Gina Walter, newly married and on their honeymoon, and a Mr. August Eugene Gunnison III accompanied by his new wife, Loli, who was easily half his age. Mrs. and Mrs. Walter proved to be delightful company, and Sir Frederick and Mrs. Pace were, though a bit intimidating, amiable enough. Mr. Gunnison, however, was, to be frank, a bit of a prat. When not scolding his young bride for her poor etiquette, and the poor girl was clearly out of her element to a frightful degree, he was leering quite openly at any pretty young thing that caught his eye. The girl at table three was a favored target. She was fifteen if she was a day.

"I'll say," Mr. Gunnison interjected, pulling apart the shell of a lobster-like creature with his bare hands. Even Rose, who grew up on the council estates, had to cringe as a bit of the juice spritzed across the front of his shirt. "Damned trouble-makers. Entitled, they are. Nothin' but greedy little urchins, clamoring for a handout. My stock dropped three points this morning. I've a meeting with the board of directors at Hyaphonn Steel when I return, and they better have it _sorted_." It was clear by his inflection the manner of sorting would prove unfavorable to the labor unions. Rose took a large bite of food to prevent herself from saying anything contentious, though she didn't miss the manner in which Loli's pale skin turned red and the young woman lowered her head.

"Fifteen people are killed in a crane collapse, and you're worried about your stock prices?" Gina Walter inquired, critically. Already, Rose had decided she rather liked the woman, and as she chewed, now largely unable to notice or enjoy the quality of fare she was eating, she mentally thanked the other woman for saying what nearly everyone at the table wanted to say.

"Risks of the job," Gunnison dismissed before sucking the meat out of one massive claw, "They signed on for it. Cost of doin' business."

"If you're going to place such concern in your wife's table manners, perhaps you ought to have a care for your own," Mrs. Pace pointed out, clearly emboldened by Mrs. Walter's tenacity but unwilling to tackle the messy subject under debate.

"I paid for this cruise, I'll do as I please. Still a democracy, innit? 'Less those pansies in Parliament have gone and mucked it up since I left." No one really had an answer for that. They were British; no one was about to start screaming epithets and throwing chairs. They preferred to leave that to the Scottish. Rose continued eating, wondering idly what The Doctor was up to at that moment.

* * *

The Doctor stepped out of the starboard luxury suite, shutting the door behind him. H.M.S. Aberdeen had made its last passenger stop on Victoria, and so The Doctor knew that any passenger cabins that had been reserved would already be claimed. He was more than a little surprised to find one of the two 'grand' suites vacant, leaving him in a bit of a quandary. After Rose had left for dinner in that absolutely fantastic slinky midnight-blue gown, he'd gone in search of accommodations. The ship would wind through the Eagle Nebula for four solid days, and they couldn't very well keep sneaking in and out of the ship's aft hold all that time. Besides which, he wanted to keep Rose away from the TARDIS library as long as possible. He wanted, primarily, to find two cabins next to one another, or at the very least on the same floor. Rose had a knack for finding trouble, and though he hoped this excursion would progress without incident, he felt compelled to plan for the worst.

Problem was, the two grand suites together took up the entirety of the top level in the aft section of the ship. There were no other cabins on this floor, only the formal and informal dining rooms toward the bow of the ship. If Rose took that suite, he'd have to stay on another level, and the nearest unoccupied cabin was two floors down. All manner of horrific scenarios ran through his mind, and he had no shortage of personal experience from which to pull on that account. On the other hand, the grand suites were absolutely breath-taking. Aside from the numerous posh appointments, which he was relatively certain she wouldn't care one whit about, floor-to-ceiling windows offered those willing and able to meet the steep price tag a stunning, virtually uninterrupted view of the nebula. Of course, he wouldn't be footing any bill, he'd be manipulating the ship's logs.

Thing was, he didn't just want to get her mind off the Daleks for a few days. He wanted her to stop thinking about them full stop. Of course, that would never happen, but she certainly hadn't forgotten about them before the massacre at Torchwood Tower, and yet she'd had perspective, then. She hadn't come aboard his TARDIS and immediately demanded he help her hunt them down. She'd had joy and balance before that lone Dalek gunned down so many of her friends and colleagues. No, she could never forget the Daleks, no more than he could, but she could find some of that peace and joy and courage she'd had. She could stop living in constant fear that the tin monsters would take everything away from her again. If his plan of his had met with some success so far, giving her that cabin would clinch it.

So, turning to the door across the hall, the door to the port side grand suite, The Doctor pointed the Sonic Screwdriver at the biometric access panel. It was highly unlikely that both suites would be vacant, but it was worth a look. He'd resigned himself to the fact that he would give Rose the grand suite, and as the controls rejected the sonic signal, he knew that was it. The door was dead-bolted; someone was staying there. With a labored sigh, he tucked the Sonic in his suit jacket pocket and looked around for an integrated terminal. He would reserve the suite for Dr. Rubble and book Dr. Slate into the cabin on Level Three. Just as he was about to walk away, a sound beyond the door of the port side grand suite caught his attention. He turned back to the door, staying absolutely still, until he heard it again.

This time, The Doctor stepped up to the door and pressed an ear against the carbon composite. It had been made to resemble a finely detailed, dark cherry wood door, and it didn't permit sound easily, but The Doctor possessed particularly good hearing. He supposed it was one consolation for those ridiculous ears. Inside, he could hear the indecipherable murmur of at least three distinct voices, but more interesting was the underlying current of a pulsing, wave-like signal. It was just a bit above the normal range for human hearing, but The Doctor could make it out clear as day. Problem was, he hadn't a clue what the signal might mean.

Suddenly, the door slid open into the pocket of the wall and The Doctor pulled back, surprised. He was face to face with three decidedly unscrupulous-looking fellows, each bigger and burlier than the last. The bloke on the right was at least as tall as The Doctor, but with a bald head and a minimum thirty extra pounds of muscle on him. The one on the left was half a head taller than his mate with a shoulder-length mane of brilliant ginger hair and hands like steam shovels. The man in the middle, however, was an inch or two shorter than baldy, and The Doctor, but with the broad build of a badger and trapezii so large his neck had disappeared. The odd bit about all three of them was the fact that, here, in the most stately of rooms on this most elegant of starcraft, they were all wearing space suits. He knew, instantly, why they were here.

"Bye, then," he said, offering a cheery smile as he ducked away and sprinted down the passageway. He had to find Rose, and he had to tell her. Pirates were on board.

* * *

After dinner, there was dancing. As the plates had been cleared away, Rose had purposefully avoided the gaze of Mr. Gunnison who had cast one or two blatant, offensively assessing gazes her way during the course of the meal. While she was clearly a bit older than he preferred, he seemed to possess only passing interest in the lovely Loli and likely knew that the parents of the girl at table three would never permit him to dance with her. Still, in the end, he'd grudgingly taken his young bride out onto the dance floor, and Rose's heart had sunk as she'd seen the reluctant, defeated look in the girl's blue eyes. She knew better than to interfere. She was out of time and out of place, completely unfamiliar with the laws and customs, but if she'd ever wanted to stir up trouble, it was here and now.

Instead, she sat alone at the table with a glass of wine that was too strong by half and watched the couples advance and twirl under the magnificent chandelier. Eventually, her eyes drifted past the men and women decked out in their finery to the view out the starboard windows. The composition of the molecular clouds had been gradually changing as they travelled, and the burgundy and pink were gradually mixing with aquamarine and marigold. Glowing, billowing formations of stellar gases and particles surrounded them, and she fancied she could see the dim, telltale glow of newly condensing stars. She was hardly paying attention when a large, masculine hand entered her field of vision and a familiar voice asked her if she'd care to dance.

* * *

The Doctor spotted the Steward from earlier, the one who'd requested their tickets on the observation deck, standing at a podium just outside the grand dining room. He was clearly flustered at the sight of 'Dr. Slate' running up to him in such an untoward fashion, but he gathered his composure quickly as The Doctor jogged to a halt in front of him.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Slate. I'm afraid I can't allow you in the formal dining area without the proper attire." He said, holding up his hands. The Doctor's first instinct was to tell the penguin-suited man to sod off and just barge right in, but if he could resolve this whole mess without making a scene, he very much wished to continue the trip for Rose's sake.

"I just need to get word to my colleague," he explained, "Somethin's come up, and she's needed on a consultation."

"Sir," the Steward tilted his head down and looked at The Doctor with patronizing skepticism, "We are entering a magnetically volatile section near the heart of the nebula. All extraneous outside communication has been blocked in order to ensure the bridge maintains contact with the control station on Victoria." The Doctor didn't have an immediate response to that.

"Look, I just need to pop in quick and tell her somethin'..." The Doctor struggled for the right term, "of a sensitive nature. Time is cru-" His words fell away as he spotted her out of the corner of his eye. Beyond the doorway, sweeping across the dance floor in that gorgeous midnight blue gown with the draped back, was Rose. More importantly, it was Rose dancing in the arms of a handsome, young, dark-haired man with a disarming smile and a roguish glint in his eyes. It wasn't often that The Doctor was rendered speechless, but as he watched them, words failed him. One large, firm hand on the small of her back; her small, graceful hand cradled in the other; and the look of complete, unabashed fascination and joy in her wide hazel eyes tore the breath from his lugs. In that moment, all he could think was he should've just worn the damn tuxedo.


	4. Chapter 4

**Obligatory Disclaimer:** I do not own Doctor Who.

**Author's Note:** I apologize again for the delay. I'm getting my shit together, I promise. Also, YES, IT'S JACK. I think that covers pretty much all the reviewers... ;)

**Believer29:** I know exactly what you mean. I'm always like "Keep up the good work..." But I'm always glad to hear I'm rockin' some socks off. **Blue Stone Shining Wolf:** Weeeell, you see, it's not her Jack, it's _a_ Jack. And we'll need to see just what breed of Jack $$ he is. :D Kazster: Indeed we do. Enjoy! **Royslady51:** I think his biggest problem is with wearing a tie. Particularly a bowtie. Oh, if only he could see the bowtie/fez shenanigans of Eleven. **Hibari heza:** Let me just say, I sincerely hope I handle getting Rose and The Doctor together as well as the writers of "Castle" managed to get Castle and Beckett together. That is by far my favorite successful TV 'ship, and I think their timing and their plotting was spot on. **Mauve Guest:** What if the psychic clothes pan out like the psychic paper? "Can't let your mind wander" and all. It all just means Jack _cannot_ be trusted with psychic trousers. **TK: **Yes! I specifically avoided listing him as a character so as not to spoil the surprise. Now I can add him. Enjoy! **Emmitha:** Yay, Jack! **Musicalocelot:** It's kind of lovely discovering a series when it's already partially established, though. Less waiting, at least until you get caught up. Now you get to suffer with the rest. :D **Dreamcatcher: **Yep, Jack's back! And questionable-er as ever. F#$% I'm tired. **Ran0neechan:** Glad you're enjoying the series! And here's more...

* * *

"So, tell me, how is it that a woman as lovely as yourself is dining alone?" Rose had been so stunned to see his face that she'd not said a word, simply allowed him to take her hand and escort her onto the dance floor. With all the practiced ease he'd displayed years before, he'd tucked her neatly against him, one hand resting firmly against the curve of her lower back and the other cradling her own. She'd not seen Jack Harkness in over ten years, not since the Gamestation, and for the life of her she simply couldn't stop staring. Her lips were parted with the words she couldn't find, and the great rogue was clearly basking in her dismay. His words, however, coupled with the memory of how he'd been like a brother to her, disbursed the haze of shock.

"Jack Harkness, this is about to get incredibly awkward." She informed, budging away from him slightly, but continuing their dance.

"Fascinating," he commented, smiling that brilliant smile, "We've met?"

"In a manner of speaking," Rose hedged.

"Was it good?" somehow, he'd managed to ease her close once more, and he spoke softly in her ear, his cheek barely brushing hers.

"Oh, you have no idea," she replied, deftly easing herself out of his grasp and twirling herself out into a spin. When she reached the end of his grasp and he spun her back, she managed to place a more reasonable amount of space between them.

"You seem to have an advantage. You know my name, but I don't know yours," he replied, gracefully resigning himself to the more chaste dancing arrangement – for now.

"For the moment, you can call me Dr. Rubble," she replied. She possessed enough presence of mind to be cautious. Not only did she not want someone calling her by a name other than that the steward knew her by, but she had to acknowledge she simply didn't know this man. The Jack she knew, while certainly not a strict adherer to the law, had never been capable of true cruelty or malice. She couldn't just blithely assume the same of the Jack dancing with her, now.

"Fair enough," he allowed, "Where will we meet?"

"Isn't that cheating?" she teased.

"Absolutely, but it's an appointment I certainly don't want to miss," he said, and Rose found that he'd once again managed to draw her close. How _did_ he do that?

"Long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away," she said in all honesty, "Tell me, do you still work for the Time Agency?" She'd spotted the Vortex Manipulator on his wrist when he'd pulled her back in from her self-instigated spin, so it was a safe assumption.

"Not for some time, I'm afraid." She didn't miss the sudden coolness, the measure of caution and suspicion in his demeanor. "Was I with the Agency when we met?" She noted how his hand tightened, ever so slightly, around hers. He thought she might bolt.

"Settle down, I'm not a Time Agent," Rose sighed, "Just another freelancer, like yourself." That answered two questions. Not only was this Jack a former Time Agent, he'd likely also had his memories stolen.

"Then you should know I prefer to be called a criminal," he said, pulling her even closer.

"I bet you say that to all the girls," Rose touched her tongue to her teeth, and for the barest moment, she seemed to genuinely confuse him.

"Who are you?"

* * *

For several interminable moments, The Doctor watched the scene on the dance floor. Once or twice, Rose and the mysterious stranger disappeared among the swirling couples, and he stretched his neck despite himself to catch sight of them again. When he realized what strange looks he was getting from the steward, The Doctor schooled himself and, with one last glance through the door, mumbled a thoughtless apology and turned away. He could feel his ears burning and the rush of fear and dread knotting in his stomach. He'd no choice but to return to the TARDIS, and as soon as he was out of sight of the ballroom, he began sprinting down the corridor.

The ship was in danger, and Rose with it. As he rounded one corner and then the next, he told himself this was the reason for his disquiet, but as he fought to ignore the mental image of Rose dancing with the suave, dark-haired man, it bubbled up with greater resilience. With each footstep, and each breath, it taunted him. He'd seen that look of wonder and joy on her face before, and whenever he'd been the cause of it, it made his twin hearts swell. Now, after seeing those warm, genuine hazel eyes fixed so intently on another, he felt utterly deflated. He nearly forgot the three pirates entirely as he rushed toward the cargo hold, at least until he took a hard right turn and nearly ran headlong into the giant ginger.

The Doctor skidded to a wild halt, and the pirate looked nearly as surprised as he did. For a fraction of a second, they stared at one another before The Doctor turned and began running back the way he'd come. Almost instantly, he heard the other man take up the pursuit, his heavy, booted feet beating a steady rhythm on the marble floor. Once more, The Doctor cursed his attire, the classic black wingtips hadn't nearly the purchase as his trusty boots would have on this floor. He lost a great deal of speed skidding around the next bend, and he swore he could feel his pursuer's fingertips brush at the tail of his suit jacket as he gained speed once more. Digging deep, he lengthened his stride and ran like the Hound of the Baskervilles was quick on his heels.

He needed only to make it as far as the grand dining room where the surly steward stood guard. These brigands, whatever they were there for, would try to conceal themselves from the ship's crew as long as possible. The ginger wouldn't dare expose their operation; that said, he had a particular incentive to catch his quarry before they reached the host station. The Doctor saw another intersection coming up, and knew that a left turn was the quickest route back to the ballroom. Thinking quickly, he slowed his stride and, just as he'd hoped, he heard the pirate's footsteps speed up. At the last moment, The Doctor skidded to a stop, dropping to one knee and tucking his head down. He braced himself as the larger man hit him going full-tilt and fell ass-over-tea-kettle onto the marble floor. The Time Lord sprang to his feet and sprinted for the ballroom.

* * *

"What's the con, Jack?" Rose asked, ignoring his query flat out.

"Miss Rubble," he feigned offense, "What sort of scoundrel do you take me for?"

"The worst kind," she goaded, "And that's Dr. Rubble."

"You're no more a doctor than I'm a –"

"Captain?" Rose finished, arching her eyebrows at him.

"Exactly," he grinned that self-assured grin, "I mean, neurobionics, really?"

"You always were clever," she allowed.

"You almost sound impressed."

"I'm only goin' to ask you once more, Jack. What're you schemin' at?"

"Miss Rubble, that sounds like a threat," he pointed out, spinning her about suddenly and lowering her into a deep dip, "If you want in, maybe you should tell me your real name."

"You first," she insisted, and he swept her gracefully up into the standing position.

"Are you working alone?"

"Not exactly."

"Not exactly?"

"I've a – 'colleague.'"

"When you say 'colleague' –"

"I believe this is my dance." Rose could hardly react before the rough, cool, familiar hand of The Doctor took hers and spun her smoothly into his own arms. She was left speechless for the second time that night as her free arm instinctively wrapped around those lean, broad shoulders and she fell in step with him as naturally as breathing. For a moment, the rogue was forgotten and only the thief remained. Her nose only inches from the open collar of his shirt, she caught the subtle scent of sun and wind and leather mingled with the more present notes of freshly cleaned linen, and she had to force her head back, away from the loosened collar and exposed skin. When her eyes met his, she didn't know quite what to make of the look in those intense blue eyes. She only knew that this man, unlike his predecessor, moved with calm, refined confidence.

"Where'd Jack go?" Rose suddenly asked, turning her head left and right to scan the dance floor for the conman. For the most fleeting of moments, The Doctor had felt almost euphoric. When he'd first entered the ballroom, he'd looked around frantically, suddenly realizing it had been a terribly long time since he'd danced with anyone and he wasn't entirely sure he'd remember how. Much as he'd like, he couldn't just lay-out the dark-haired stranger, he had to be discreet. Then, the moment he'd spotted them, something brilliant and primal had flared inside him, and he suddenly remembered everything. The obvious surprise on her face when he'd swung her away from her dancing partner, the way she'd tucked against him so effortlessly, and they way she'd looked at him had completely washed away his tension. Until now.

"You can find him later, Rose," The Doctor said, perhaps a little more sternly than was warranted, "Right now, we have a problem."

"No, you don't understand, it's... Wait, how did you get in here?"

"Excellent question, Rose, as usual," he beamed. He didn't know if he was happier to get her mind off the dashing gentleman who'd so enthralled her or to have her fall so easily into their bizarre little problem-solving rhythm, "Look over my left shoulder." Rose did as he instructed, and her brow creased instantly.

"Is that the steward?"

"Yep."

"Dancing a jig?"

"Give the girl a medal."

"That's certainly... festive."

"That's not all. I ran into some rather – unscrupulous characters, earlier."

"Meaning..."

"Pirates," he said, succinctly. For a moment, Rose just stared at him, though she kept in perfect step.

"Pirates?" she said finally, unsure she'd heard him correctly.

"Yes, pirates," he confirmed.

"As in – 'arrrrgh?'"

"More or less, yeah." He was grinning at the prospect of danger and adventure, and Rose was busy putting the pieces together.

"Oh dear..." she said, fearing the worst.

"Indeed," The Doctor beamed, "Genuine intergalactic pirates."

"What's that got to do with the steward all the sudden channeling Michael Flatley?"

"Rose, could you do me a favor?" The Doctor asked by way of answer.

"Sure, what is it?"

"Stop dancing."

"What?"

"Stop dancing, Rose. Jus' stop."

"That's –" she'd begun to make some manner of retort, to point out how arbitrary and silly his request was, until she actually thought about it a moment. There was no music playing. Still moving in tune with a nonexistent beat, she turned her head, angling for the corner where the band had been set up. The instruments, a string quartet, lay abandoned. Nearby, the two violinists were waltzing together while the violist was break dancing in the corner and the cellist was doing the Macarena. Rose spun back around to face The Doctor. She concentrated, willed her feet to stop moving, but they continued. "I – I can't." she breathed, suddenly frightened, "I can't stop."


	5. Chapter 5

**Obligatory Disclaimer: **I do not own Doctor Who.

**Author's Note:** I'm getting back in the groove. I swear I am.

**Blue Stone Shining Wolf: **But it's EXCELLENT exercise. I mean, The Worm is, like, nothing but core. **Royslady51:** That's the easy way out. There must be running and the foiling of nefarious plans! :P **TK: **Yes, no matter the universe, The Doctor must dance. And we get a wee peak at what sneaky ol' Jack is on about.** musicalocelot:** A hit of Axe might take care of that, but no one wants to think of The Doctor smelling like The Situation. **Hibari heza:** God I missed Jack... Torchwood, while a good show, just isn't the same. **Ran0neechan:** Yes, Jack is back! And now I have the pressure of making sure I get yet another beloved character 'right.' **Dreamcatcher49**: If there's one constant, it's that Jack Harkness has a gift for getting himself tangled up in situations he doesn't fully realize the consequences of. :D **Mauve Guest: **You know, it's something I noticed in 'The Doctor Dances' that as soon as Rose asks Jack for a dance, The Doctor suddenly remembers his moves. Had to include a little nod to that. ;)

* * *

"Doctor, what's goin' on?" Rose asked, suppressing the urge to panic. Some unseen force had compelled everyone in the ballroom to either continue dancing, or to start. One look at the steward's face told of bone-deep fear and utter confusion. The musicians looked horrified, as well, and the rest of the guests, those who had been dancing already, were slowly coming to the same realization as Rose; they couldn't stop. Their legs, their whole bodies, moved against their will. "Is this – is this happening everywhere?" she asked, swallowing hard.

"Most likely," The Doctor admitted. He knew the direction of her thoughts; he knew she was worried about the men and women steering the great ship; and perhaps he should have lied. Only, he couldn't. "Rose, I can get us out of this, but I can't help everyone here. Not right away. I have to find the source of the signal."

"Signal? It's remote control?"

"Sonic. I can hear it. I caught a hint of it in one of the luxury suites while I was searching for cabins, not strong enough to affect anyone. They've amplified it. I can hear it ringin' off the hull."

"Why dancin'?" she asked. Only moments ago, she'd been enjoying herself, perhaps a little more than she ought, but now that it was clear her dance with The Doctor had turned into something altogether sinister, her ire was building. She didn't take well to being controlled, to being forced to go or stay or fight or hide. To that end, she'd become rather adept at picking the locks on handcuffs. For every mug shot in her photo album, there'd been a half-dozen more she'd escaped. This, however, was more than that. Not only was she being coerced by unseen forces, they had perverted something that up until that point had been so beautiful and faultless.

"Far as motor control goes, dancin's perfect," The Doctor said, shifting easily into grim lecturer mode, "It's rhythmic, patterned, so the signal can be looped. It's not a blatantly objectionable activity, so the subconscious mind offers little resistance. In this case, most of the guests are already dancing, so they continue. For those who weren't, they assume the style that suits them best, the one that feels most natural to them." At that, Rose glanced to the break-dancing violist.

"Natural?" she asked, witnessing a flawlessly executed windmill.

"If he can act, as well, he's a triple threat," The Doctor commented, and Rose returned her attention to him. For a moment she searched his face.

"But why do this at all?" she asked, "Why would pirates want everyone dancing?" The Doctor's lips set in a grim line.

"If we're lucky, they just want everyone occupied so they can loot the ship. Search all the cabins and the luggage compartments."

"So, hopefully they don't get it in their heads the TARDIS is valuable," Rose mumbled, "And what if we're not lucky?" She had to ask, and given all the scrapes they got in to, and out of, she couldn't quite decide if they were eternally cursed or insanely fortunate. The Doctor swallowed hard, and Rose tightened her grip on his shoulder. She trusted him, he had to know that by now.

"Salvage," he said, firmly, "They'll take over the ship and pilot it to a scrap yard. They'll take it apart, bit by bit, and sell it."

"And us?" Rose asked, her dark eyes steady on his.

"Possibly captured, auctioned as slaves in some of the more unscrupulous parts of the universe. More likely, they'll shut down life support, let us all suffocate."

"Right," she nodded, "Well, can't have that, can we? So, what's the plan?" Despite himself, despite the circumstances and his fear for everyone on board, the corner of The Doctor's mouth pulled into a lopsided grin.

"Haven't got one," he admitted. When that broad, brilliant smile lit up her face, his hearts swelled.

"Perfect," she beamed, "The pirates don't stand a chance."

* * *

Jack had exited the ballroom quickly, chancing one last glance back at the enigmatic young woman he'd been dancing with and the tall, grim fellow who'd interrupted them. Judging by the near perfect way his shirt had matched the shade of her gown, he could guess they were on the tour together, not that noticing as much had been necessary. He'd been forced to jump from enough hotel windows and fire escapes in a dire state of undress to know jealousy when he saw it, and that man was the first to ever really worry him. Still, the beautiful 'Dr. Rubble' had clearly known him, and she hadn't slapped him on sight. The former was surprising enough, the latter was a statistical anomaly. When the night's work was over, he'd have to find her, if he hadn't already learned who she was.

Until then, he marched down the corridor with the confident ease of a practiced scam artist. The boys had likely started searching the ship, already, but he'd given them explicit instructions to begin in the luggage holds. Hammersmith was staying in suite 349, and Jack had no notion to compete with those three lug-heads over the contents of one lousy cabin. The item he was interested in wouldn't be of unusual value to them, but pirates were a notoriously suspicious lot. If he told them to avoid a specific room, that's the first place they'd go. Better to direct them to an obvious target and hope it would keep them occupied long enough for Jack to get in, get the goods, and get out.

He located a stairwell, and stepped quickly inside, descending to level three on light feet. Once there, he followed the tasteful, engraved placards through a winding series of corridors until he located room 349. Jack was feeling more optimistic than he had in ages, and he stood for a moment, smiling at the astoundingly authentic faux cherry wood finish of the carbon composite door before digging the sonic blaster out of the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket. He took aim at the latch, fired, and watched with ever-increasing anticipation as a square hole appeared in the door. Job done, Jack tucked the blaster back in his pocket and took one last glance down either end of the hallway, more out of habit that genuine necessity, before pushing open the door.

The suite inside was dark, but as the motion sensors detected his entry, the lights came on. It was a modestly sized suite, though richly appointed with marble floors, cherry wood accents, and walls painted a rich emerald green. It boasted an en suite bathroom with a personal sauna, a wet bar, and a seating area separate from the bedroom. Jack wasn't entirely sure where to start looking, but the bar and bathroom seemed least likely, so he crossed through the seating area, keeping a weather eye out for items of interest, and opened the door leading to the bedroom. Again, the lights flickered cheerfully to life as he entered, and he shut the door behind him.

Hammersmith's suitcase lay empty on an ornate footstool, and though he made a perfunctory search of the pockets, he knew everything had been unpacked. Old Georgie boy wasn't the sort to suffer living out of a cluttered bag when there were closets and drawers enough for five people. So, Jack began searching the desk, dressers, and nightstands with swift proficiency. When this failed, he lifted up the mattress and box springs to check underneath, leaving them upturned on the floor once he was done. There was no point in hiding his search. They'd know what was missing, and they'd know who'd done it. Jack's life was forfeit, and he didn't much give a damn.

A thorough search of the wardrobe, including the pockets of George Hammersmith's bespoke suits, turned up nothing, but the small safe built into the floor was promising. He didn't want to risk opening it with the blaster, and possibly damaging the contents, until he was sure the drive was nowhere else in this room. So, he turned his attention to the sitting room, followed by the wet bar, the coat closet, the bathroom, and even the empty space under the wooden bench in the sauna. When he was finished, the sofa cushions were spread all over the room, the curtains torn down, and the liquor bottles lying shattered on the floor. He knew the safe was the most likely place, and now it was the only place left to look.

Jack knelt before the open wardrobe doors, hands resting on his knees as he stared at the digital scramble pad for a long moment. His heart was beating furiously in his chest, and the smile had long since faded from his lips. He was so close; he could feel his fingers itching to take hold of the data drive. He withdrew the sonic blaster from his pocket with slow, deliberate hands and carefully selected the weakest setting. Checking the dial once, then again, Jack aimed at the safe door. Then, with a deep, shuddering breath, he pulled the trigger.

* * *

"Now, listen Rose, I need the Sonic Screwdriver. We haven't got a choice but to keep dancing, and as long as we're in a waltz, I can't move my hands, but we can change the dance," The Doctor explained.

"Right, what d'ye have in mind?"

"Something more fluid. Something... spinny," he struggled for an explanation, "But we have to keep the rhythm. We can't deviate from the signal."

"But I can't hear the signal."

"Right, but I can. Any suggestions?"

"I don't know many dances," Rose admitted, "And I only know one that'll let me get all – handsy."

"What?" he asked, brows raised but declining to comment on her description.

"Tango."

"Rose, I don't think that's..." he replied, fighting the blush he could feel suffusing his neck and climbing to his ears.

"If you have any better ideas, I'd love to hear them," she assured. They'd been gliding about the dance floor a solid fifteen minutes, now, and the absence of music was gradually being replaced by a murmur of panicked chatter all around them. The Doctor looked around him, his forehead creased in concern. Finally, he turned his attention back to Rose who looked up at him with grim determination. Sighing, he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers. He listened to the meter and frequency of the signal, and as he discerned the pattern, he began counting softly for Rose's benefit. Within seconds, she picked up the pattern and whispered the count back to him. Hearts pounding, his counting synchronized with hers, he took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and as the count cycled back, he pulled her body close to his and moved forward into a walking step with flawless precision.

Rose fell into step immediately, following his lead and drawing her arm more tightly about his shoulder. The followed a basic walking step for several beats, each concentrating so intently on the count that they could scarcely pay attention to the forced intimacy of the situation. Rose hadn't tangoed in a long while, and she hadn't even realized The Doctor knew how to tango at all. Both, however, were terrified of botching the steps and winding up separated. Rose could only imagine herself taking up something ridiculous, like the Chicken Dance, once bereft of a dancing partner. With renewed concentration, she began paying greater attention to the dance, to the Time Lord's subtle movements. Gradually, she looked up into his eyes. He was still muttering the count to himself.

"Ready to try a turn?" he asked.

"I have a better idea," she replied, "Spin me out, and when I come back, I move into a molinete." The Doctor had no reply, only swallowed hard and nodded once. "Ready?" she asked, and on the next beat he spun her out with his left hand until she reached the end, their arms stretched out between them. Without missing a beat, Rose spun back in, immediately transitioning into a series of figure-eight steps as The Doctor stood still and she circled him, her hand running over the lines of his tailored suit. This was the point of the move, her hand brushing gently over his chest, then his shoulder and his back as she completed the circle. As she looped back to his front, she deftly snuck her hand into his inside suit pocket and grabbed the Sonic just as pulled her in once more and resumed the basic walking step. With a somewhat confused flourish, Rose took the Sonic in her teeth before placing her hand once more on The Doctor's shoulder.

"It's the signal," he explained in response to her bewildered expression. In any other circumstance it would have been comical; her clinching the Sonic in her teeth like a long-stemmed rose and the utterly baffled look in her large hazel eyes, "You have to adhere to the dance." They continued through several more beats, trying a number of full and half spins, but Rose was never able to take the Sonic out of her mouth and turn it over to The Doctor. Finally, he sighed to himself, knowing there was nothing for it.

"Sorry," he said, just before swinging her into his right arm and lowering her into a deep dip. Compelled by the unheard directive, she arched gracefully, letting her head fall back and accentuating the graceful lines of her neck. The Doctor damn near lost the beat as his breath hitched, but as she lifted her head, he remembered himself. Quickly, and as unobtrusively as he could manage, he bent his head and took the opposite end of the device in his own teeth. In imperceptible tremor ran through him as his nose brushed her cheek, but it was over in a second, Rose letting go the Sonic and The Doctor hauling her upright. Though they fell easily into a walking step, the look on her face was utterly unreadable, and The Doctor's hearts sank.

"So, now what?" Rose asked, her heart hammering away inside her chest with a ferocity that nearly made her light-headed. She fought for control and slowly regained it, though the fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach refused to abate.

"Ve Gra Finawwy," he attempted to say past the device held in his teeth.

"What?" Rose asked, her eyebrows knitting in the effort to translate. Unable to clarify himself, he simply threw her into a full spin before drawing her in over his right arm. She held on, arching backward instinctively as he drew the Sonic from his teeth with a dramatic flourish of his left hand, pointed it toward the floor, and activated it.

* * *

**Footnote:** He was trying to say "The grand finale," there. Is the whole tango scene a bit contrived? Do we care?


	6. Chapter 6

**Obligatory Disclaimer:** I do not own Doctor Who.

**Author's Note:** Sorry, thought I could get this up last night, but it was a long day and I got really tired and my brain stopped functioning. But here it is!

**BelindaDuvessa:** At least, she hopes she knows. No matter how conflict-hardened and street-smart she's become, Rose is ever the optimist. Thanks for dropping a line! **Royslady51:** I haven't seen the fire dance, actually, but I shall get on that. **Katydidtoo:** Huzzah! **Jeni27:** You know, the Flynn Rider thing didn't occur to me, but now that cracks me up. Love it! **TK:** Ah Jack, equal parts shameless hound dog and hopeless romantic. Can you imagine if the two Captain Jacks ever met? Shenanigans! **LadyDunla:** Totally understand, and thanks for dropping in to let me know you're still enjoying the series! **Dreamcatcher:** *sigh* Don't we all? Nine and Rose dancing together, as it should be. **Ninthsgirl:** Hahaha, glad everyone seemed to be OK with that whole scenario. There's a fine line between "legitimate plot device" and "you just shoe-horned that in there to make them snog, didn't you?". Granted, they didn't snog, but you know what I mean. :D **Blue Stone Shining Wolf:** If we're going to work with the Lambada, I may as well play a game of "what does a double-heart attack look like?" And a planless Doctor is the unstoppable force which all immovable objects fear. **Musicalocelot:** Guess you just have to wait and find out. *rubs hands together and cackles maniacally* **Mauve Guest:** Maybe someday when my graphic skills have moved beyond stick figures... hahahaha! **Vaylyn:** Another vote of confidence for the Tango scene! Glad I didn't handle that too clumsily. :D

* * *

"We've stopped," Rose pointed out with a certain degree of hesitation. She stood still, The Doctor's arm wrapped about her waist, supporting her, and she clung to his shoulder with her left arm, not quite confident she could let go. She really didn't want to end up doing the Chicken Dance. "How've we stopped?"

"The TARDIS," The Doctor said after a slight pause. Much like his companion, he wanted to be sure they were in the clear, and as he felt no compulsion to continue dancing – well, no external compulsion – he finally relaxed. Feeling the tension dissolve so palpably from The Doctor's stance, Rose gradually loosened her arm and eased out of his grasp. "She's sort of 'translating.' Turnin' the signal into something harmless."

"But only inside our heads," Rose surmised, turning to take a look around the ballroom at all the dancing couples. Many of them were now regarding Rose and The Doctor with unmasked curiosity and hope. Her heart sank a bit, knowing better, "That's why you said we couldn't help them right away."

"I'm sorry, Rose," The Doctor said softly, tucking the Sonic Screwdriver back into his jacket pocket.

"Not your fault," Rose replied, still watching the assembled guests and staff members. She'd caught sight of Loli, stuck in an endless waltz with that horrible oaf Gunnison. The girl's large, dark blue eyes were locked on Rose, asking for an answer and pleading for a means of escape. The Doctor's gaze followed Rose's, and while he'd not been at dinner, and therefore knew nothing of Gunnison, he knew fear when he saw it. He also knew it wasn't merely the dancing that horrified her so.

"Do you know her?" he asked, softly.

"Sort of," Rose said, "Not really. Jus'..." She couldn't finish her sentence, couldn't bear to attempt to summarize the girl's situation in a succinct manner.

"Right," The Doctor said, just the way he'd always say it just before they ran headlong into some manner of dire trouble. He turned around several times, searching the room, and Rose finally took her attention off the young woman and her insufferable husband.

"What is it?" she asked, and just as she spoke he seemed to have come to some decision.

"Go cut in with the violist," he said, "He looks a strapping lad. See if you can't get him into a waltz." Rose turned to question him, they'd only just managed to _stop_ dancing, but he was marching purposefully toward the opposite end of the dance floor, toward Gunnison. Rose watched, perplexed, as he dodged past one pair, and then the next, before walking up to the drastically mismatched couple and executing a short, perfunctory bow.

"May I cut in?" he asked with a manic grin before swiftly taking Loli's hand and swinging her away from a stunned August Gunnison and into his own arms. The girl looked up at him, a mixture of stunned relief and profound gratitude on her face; and The Doctor smiled at her with that brilliant, overconfident smile as he led her away from her now scarlet-tinged husband. Rose couldn't imagine that August Eugene Gunnison III frequently found himself at a loss for words, but as he watched his young bride be swept away by some big-eared stranger, he sputtered an incomprehensible protest. She watched, fascinated, as outrage gave way to horror at the realization that he could neither stand still, nor pursue the lanky upstart. Instead, he gradually transitioned into what looked like the Electric Slide.

"Rose," The Doctor interrupted her thoughts as he and Loli drew near, "The violist."

"Right!" she spun around, quickly locating the break-dancing musician and rushing to his side. She stopped short, watching his legs twirl in the air as he executed a head spin, completely unsure how she was going to 'cut in.' As he transitioned from the spin into a shoulder roll, followed by the famous 'Worm,' Rose stood dumbfounded, completely unsure where to start.

"I'm sorry, sir?" Rose asked, tentatively, "Is there any way you could get to your feet? I mean, are there any moves – oh," She watched, somewhat amazed, as the violist managed to get himself upright in a way that looked like a marionette being hauled up by the strings. Once on his feet, the violist spread his arms out and began executing a wave starting at his left hand and moving past is elbow, shoulders, and into his right arm. It was a convenient opening, and Rose quickly dismissed her surprise and stepped in, taking one outstretched hand into hers and pulling the other to her waist. Within a heartbeat, she'd managed to pull him out onto the dance floor in a graceful waltz.

"There, that's better," she smiled gently. The young man looked more than a little stunned.

"W-what's going on?" he asked, darting dark brown eyes around the ballroom. He was breathing heavily, exhausted, and clearly grateful to be moving at a more moderate pace.

"Just a small problem with the atmo system; somehow it's started pumpin' out dancin' gas," Rose said, turning her head to spot The Doctor and Loli and steer her dance partner closer, "We'll have it sorted as soon as we can, but we had to find you a dance partner. Have you met Loli?"

"N-no, I –" the violist stammered, but just at that moment, they reached The Doctor and, is if of one mind, Time Lord and companion, swung their dance partners away from themselves and toward one another. Too shocked to stop or protest, Loli and the erstwhile breakdancer clung to one another and continued their waltz with flawless timing. Rose and The Doctor stood back immediately, giving the pair space to maneuver.

"Brilliant!" Rose beamed, "Loli, meet – I'm sorry, I didn't ask your name."

"Kevin," the musician blurted out, and she couldn't tell if he was more surprised by the general madness of the situation or by the sudden appearance of a beautiful young girl in his arms.

"Right, Kevin," Rose clapped her hands together, "Kevin, this is Loli. We've got'a go, now, and try to stop this nonsense, but you two keep calm, stay together, and try to avoid the angry turnip over there doin' the Electric Slide. Ta!" With that, Rose grabbed The Doctor's hand and rushed out of the grand dining room.

* * *

"What the hell is that?" Jack strode purposefully into the luggage compartment, searching for his 'cohorts.' He'd made his way down several floors after leaving Hammersmith's suite, every few minutes touching the left interior pocket of his tuxedo jacket to reassure himself the drive was still there. He had what he'd come for; that said, acquiring a little extra loot would go a long way toward evading the powers-that-be once they discovered the archive missing. Moreover, if he was honest with himself, he didn't entirely trust his hired help not to make a hash of things. So, he'd gone straight for the luggage compartment, meaning to intercept them and oversee operations. Instead, he found a big, blue thing marked as a 'Police Box.'

Jack stood and stared at it, forgetting for a moment he hadn't found the three mercenaries. He walked around it twice, wondering what purpose it could possibly serve and who'd brought it on board to be stashed among the stacked aluminum cargo cases and personal transport vehicles. Bare metal was terribly in style during this time period, and the 'Police Box' was therefore the lone spot of color in the room. Utterly fascinated, he toyed with the 'phone' to find it wasn't live, naturally, and he tried the doors to find they were locked. When he'd gotten his kit out and attempted to pick the lock, the mechanism had shocked him hard enough to make him curse profusely and drop his tools. Likewise, the Sonic Blaster had proven frustratingly ineffective – in that the battery had fizzled and sputtered out as soon as he'd pulled the trigger.

The blue box had him thoroughly stumped and equally captivated. After tucking away his defunct Sonic Blaster, a frustrated Jack crossed his arms and stood staring at the enigmatic structure. A niggling little thought in his brain told him he ought to walk away, to go in search of those three cretins before they managed to screw everything up, but the Police Box stood there like an open challenge. He couldn't tear himself way from it, not until he heard a deep, grinding sound and felt a shudder pass through the length of the great ship. He knew that feeling, had heard that sound before; the fission engines were being cycled up. The H.M.S. Aberdeen was preparing to open an Einstein-Rosen bridge.

* * *

The Doctor knelt down next to a massive mechanical contraption that looked like a blinking, beeping Stanley Cup. The pair had fled from the ballroom as quickly as Rose's high-heels would allow, making their way toward the luxury suite where The Doctor had heard the strange noise. All that time he'd been darting cautious glances around them, keeping an eye out for the pirates. They likely assumed he was caught in the dancing much like everyone else on the ship, and had gone about their business. Still, he didn't fancy running into them again. Once they'd reached the suite, Rose had kept watch along the lengthy corridor while he'd finagled a way inside.

Now, Rose was staring at the device that was causing all the trouble while The Doctor used the Sonic Screwdriver to remove the access panel on one side of the three-foot tall cylinder. She thought this might be the first time she'd seen the device utilized as an actual screwdriver, and it almost made her smile. Instead, as the last screws were taken out, she helped The Doctor ease the curved panel away from the main body of the transmitter, careful not to pull the wires that connected the exterior switches to the inner workings. She'd asked, at first, why they couldn't just turn down the volume, but after a brief scan The Doctor had replied that the controls had been locked, and without two biometric keys, the controls wouldn't respond.

"Rose, have you got your pliers with you?" The Doctor asked, peering into the inside the transmitter with his Sonic while Rose held the panel upright to keep the wires slack. Directed at anyone else in her attire, it would've been a stupid question. Instead, Rose reached down the front of her dress and withdrew her multi-tool, handing it to The Doctor. Clearly distracted, he took the proffered item and began to open it before realizing the stainless steel felt a bit – warm. Pausing for a moment, he studied Rose carefully, his eyebrows raised in question.

"Oh, grow up," she scoffed, rolling her eyes briefly, "Where else was I gonna put it?" Instead of responding, The Doctor folded the tool open and commenced work on the multi-colored mess of wires.

"The locking mechanism is jammed," he informed after a minute or two of tinkering, "I can't free up the controls. Clearly they didn't mean to ever shut this down."

"Can't we just, I dunno, smash it?" she asked, peering inside as though the tangle of red and green and blue and black and yellow would make an iota of sense to her.

"I'm afraid not. Some of these wires aren't native to the transmitter. It's been modified."

"Modified? For what?" she asked. He didn't answer right away, instead poking and prodding some more before performing another scan with the Sonic Screwdriver.

"Detonation," he said, finally, "There's a small explosive device rigged to a pressure switch, not large enough to damage the ship..."

"Jus' us," Rose concluded, "But why bother? It would still destroy the device and cancel the signal, right?" The Doctor turned his attention fully on here, then. She never failed to impress him with her intuitive questions.

"You're right," he realized, "If they left the transmitter here, unguarded, they've gone far enough that it doesn't matter if the signal's canceled. Wherever they are, they're not worried about bein' caught."

"But they are worried about anyone clever enough to find and disable the transmitter," Rose surmised.

"Right, anyone who's managed to resist the signal, anyone who can surprise them from outside their current location is a threat. But what –" The Doctor's train of thought was interrupted by a deep, resounding groan from the massive starliner and a low frequency tremor. His sharp eyes darted back and forth as the quaking subsided before fixing on Rose's. She didn't like what she saw there.

"The bridge," he breathed, "They're on the bridge."

* * *

Why Jack found himself running headlong toward the starliner's bridge, he didn't know. More than once, the small, panicked part of his brain urged him to stop, to use the Vortex Manipulator and escape the doomed ship, but despite that flawlessly pragmatic suggestion, his feet kept moving. He'd practically flown up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time as his heart pounded furiously in his chest. He reasoned that he was on his present course out of necessity; he needed a portion of the score in order to make good his escape. Those three buffoons were in the process of ruining his carefully laid plans. This wasn't right, it wasn't part of the deal. He ignored the upwelling of fear that threatened to choke him as his thoughts bent stubbornly toward the 378 passengers, for the implications of his dread made him deeply uneasy.

He reached the top floor, bursting through the fire door and into the corridor between the port and starboard luxury suites. He searched frantically for a computer terminal, spotting one halfway down the passage and sprinting toward it. Tapping briskly through the menu options, he quickly located the bridge, situated in a tower above the observation deck near the aft portion of the ship. He smacked the adjacent wall in celebration and made a bee-line for the observation deck access stair. Once topside, he looked about, blind to the staggering beauty of the stellar spire looming tall off the port side of the ship. Instead, he located the control tower, not twenty feet from the stair access door. He glanced up toward the bridge but was unable to see through the photosensitive window filters to confirm his suspicions.

"Jack?" The woman's voice shook him from his single-mindedness, and he lowered his head, quickly spotting the woman he'd been dancing with earlier. He also found, unfortunately, her scowling counterpart.

"Dr. Rubble?" he asked, approaching with long strides, all the while keeping a wary eye on the tall, big-eared bloke, "What are you doing up here?"

"Same as you, I imagine," she answered, tilting her head far back to take a look up at the bridge, "Puttin' a stop to this rubbish." Jack didn't miss the fact that the man, who had been fiddling with the controls to the stairway access moments before, now turned his full attention on Jack.

"Stop," he demanded, and while Jack was normally inclined to weasel and charm his way into doing as he pleased, he felt pinned under the intense glare of those startlingly blue eyes. He stopped, holding his palms out in a futile display of his nonthreatening intentions. The man's unquestionable declaration had caught his companion's attention, as well.

"Doctor, it's fine," she said, her brow creased, "We've got enough to worry about here, let 'im help."

"Oh, I think he's helped enough," the man, 'Doctor' something-or-other, stated, and Dr. Rubble grew mildly confused, glancing between Jack and the nameless doctor.

"Wha-" she began.

"He's not dancin'," the grim man interrupted, "He must be wearing sonic filters." In response, the lovely blonde turned her attention on Jack, and as she scrutinized him, the look of dawning realization on her face made his heart sink.

"Jack?" she asked softly, nearly pleading.

"He's a part of this."


	7. Chapter 7

**Obligatory Disclaimer:** I do not own Doctor Who.

**Author's Note:** Not even going to try to explain/excuse, just... *collapses on the floor, waves limply at audience* carry on.

**Mauve Guest:** Hahaha, Rose's things start to turn up missing... Thank you so much for sticking around! I know the schedule is all screwed up at the moment. **Hibari heza:** Aaaand just as you say that things get crazy again. So sorry for the unreliability of late, but thank you for sticking with it. Hope you enjoy! **TK: **You know, often as I see your reviews, I likely would've known you were the "guest" regardless. :D Still, though, thanks for the heads up. Now, let's have a round of applause for redeemable rogues and Team TARDIS 2.0! **Royslady:** Yeah, I kinda got the "dancing" idea from Hocus Pocus. Cause I'm a dork and I love that movie. Also, Bette Middler. **Ran0neechan:** Well, this one's not too cliffhanger-y. I don't think... And thank you for all the mad loves. **Blue Stone Shining Wolf:** No matter what else changes in her life, Rose will always be Rose, and that's why we love her. And I do have to wonder what 900 years for a Time Lord would be the equivalent of in human years? It's like trying to calculate dog years. **Vaylyn:** I think in this case a lot of it has to do with her trepidation that he exists in this universe at all. Being born in the 51st century and all, he's much farther from the point in time when this universe split from Rose's native universe. Unlike the other people she's met, there's a potential for Jack to be very different from his alternate self. At least that's my theory, for what it's worth. :D

* * *

"Hang on," Jack protested, standing his ground, "This isn't what it looks like." He was keen enough to know his usual tactics wouldn't work, and so he addressed the pair soberly. However, his assertion had little to no effect on the scowling man with the angular face and severe haircut. The blonde, meanwhile, searched his face closely, looking for what Jack didn't know. She thought she knew him, clearly, and she would be sorely disappointed. The thought saddened him, and he wasn't at all sure why.

"Not what it looks like?" the surly 'doctor' asked, his eyebrows raised in incredulity, "Because it looks like you and your and companions are in the process of stealing this ship."

"That wasn't the plan," Jack insisted.

"So, you admit it," the look of triumph on the man's face was insufferable, "You're workin' with them."

"Doctor –" Dr. Rubble tried to mollify her friend before Jack interrupted.

"I hired them," Jack clarified, "It was supposed to be a simple robbery. None of this was supposed to happen; no one was supposed to get hurt."

"Right, you hired a bunch of pirates to rob a starliner and it never occurred to you they might not follow direction?"

"Three," Jack scoffed, "Three is hardly a 'bunch.'" When neither Big Ears nor Dr. Rubble appeared taken by his effort at levity, he sighed and continued, "Look, I don't know what they're up to, but..."

"Oh, how stupid can you be?" the man interrupted with blatant derision.

"Hang on," Dr. Rubble interjected.

"Rose, he's –"

"He didn't leave," she cut him off, staring straight up at him. Jack watched with pronounced fascination as the indignant man halted his protest. Rose, assuming _that_ was her real name, turned her attention on Jack, then, and the full force of that dark gaze left him feeling utterly exposed, "Why didn't you leave, Jack?"

It was a simple question, or should have been. There was weight behind her words; she knew about the time agency, had clearly recognized the Vortex Manipulator. The thing was, her question echoed the one running through his head as each minute ticked by, the one he couldn't answer.

"I don't know," he finally said. For a moment, the three people stood in silence, watching one another carefully.

"He's a Time Agent," Rose explained to her partner, though she kept her eyes fixed on Jack, "Or was. He has a Vortex Manipulator. There, on his wrist. He could've fled to any place, any time in the whole universe. Only, he hasn't."

"And?" the man asked dismissively, though Jack could hear a degree of uncertainty in his tone. Rose ignored her companion's ire and took a handful of steps forward. He watched her closely, clearly wishing to stop her, but knowing better.

"What are you here for, Jack?" she'd stopped several feet away from him, and any trepidation he might have harbored toward the tall, brooding fellow was instantly redirected to the small, blonde-haired woman whose ready, genuine smile had attracted him such a short time before. She wasn't smiling, now. For several tense moments, his mind, normally so cool and quick under pressure, warred against itself. His fingers itched, though whether to reach for his Vortex Manipulator or to compulsively check his tuxedo pocket for the umpteenth time he couldn't guess. He had no reason trust her, none at all, and he'd worked too hard for far too long to get here. Still, there was something...

"George Hammersmith," the name passed his lips before he could think further. He could feel her friend's gaze boring into him, but he was beyond caring, now. When he saw no recognition in Rose's eyes, he continued, "Head of Operations for the Time Agency. He's carrying – well, he _was_ carrying – an archival drive of the Agency's internal network. Mission logs, dossiers, field reports, personnel files, the works."

"And why do you want them?" she asked, steadily, though he saw a shadow of knowing in her eyes.

"You know why," it sounded more pleading than he intended.

"Maybe," she admitted, and a rueful smile pulled at her lips, "But I know you, Jack. Or I did, once. The rogue; the conman; able to spin a tale from the slightest scrap of information. I need you to tell _me_ why you did something so stupid for this one data drive." Jack blinked a moment and glanced at the other 'doctor'. His arms were crossed, and though his countenance remained stern, there was a genuine light of curiosity there. Jack returned his attention to Rose.

"They wiped my memory," he said, finally, "I woke up in strange bed next to a strange man – admittedly, not unusual – with no memory of anything I'd done for the last two years. This archive covers the missing two years of my life. It's taken me three years to discover when and where they store the data drives, a maximum security storage facility on Elizabeth."

"The planet opposite the Eagle Nebula from Victoria," the stoic man concluded, "Only the Time Agency doesn't exist anymore. Hasn't for sixty-five thousand years."

"They're very careful about their data," Jack replied grimly, "I've followed couriers to Elizabeth in the 450th, 891st, and 673rd centuries. I finally got word that the archive I needed, the one covering the five years around my memory wipe, was schedule for transport in the 761st century. And now, I have it."

"Right, you have your answers," The tall man's tone was curt, but not wholly without understanding, "Was it worth it?"

"I never wanted this to happen." It was a flimsy defense, but the only one he had. At that moment, as if in morbid response, another, more intense tremor passed through the hull of the ship.

"All right, what's that, what's goin' on?" Rose asked in response to the nearly identical looks of horror on Jack's and The Doctor's faces.

"An Einstein-Rosen bridge," The Doctor answered, turning about and rushing back to the stairway access panel, "This ship is preparing to open a wormhole." Rose rushed to his side and Jack stood a moment, largely forgotten and emotionally drained.

"To where?" she asked as her companion pulled some manner of device from his pocket and began scanning the controls with a humming blue light. Jack slowly approached, unsure of his place in all this given the abrupt end to their debate.

"Could be anywhere," he replied, working hastily over the controls, "Some distant world in some lawless galaxy where they can scrap the ship without interference." Jack's stomach sank, and he instinctively reached for his sonic blaster before remembering he'd burnt the battery out. "Ha!" The Doctor crowed, "We're in." Sure enough, the red light over the door switched to green and the carbon composite door slid aside.

"Excellent," Jack grinned, "So, what's the plan."

"Run upstairs. Save the day." The man's wide, manic grin was truly transformative, and Rose was boasting her own glorious smile in response, "Come on, if you're comin'"

"Whoa, whoa; hang on," Jack said, interrupting the pair as they turned to head inside the control tower, "That's your plan?"

Rose glanced up thoughtfully before explaining, "We don't really _do_ plans."

"You don't _do_ plans?" Jack repeated, trying to clarify this appalling oversight.

"Yeah, I mean, we run in and... things jus' sort of work out." Rose shrugged.

"You're serious?" Jack asked.

"You can stay here if you like," The Doctor shrugged, "C'mon Rose." Jack watched, stunned, as the beautiful blonde smiled at him and shrugged before taking The Doctor's proffered hand and disappearing inside the stairwell. Jack stalled a moment, looking back and forth over the deserted observation deck.

"Oh, goddammit," he swore to himself as he bolted into the dimly lit stairwell, "Wait up!"

* * *

"Right, seeing as how both of you showed up unprepared – cute gizmo by the way – I'm going in first," Jack declared, withdrawing his sonic blaster. He'd caught up to them by the third landing and tried to talk them into formulating some kind of plan to no success. The Doctor, who was now working on the access panel to the bridge, ignored the former Time Agent. "The battery is fried," Jack explained, "But hopefully they won't know that."

"Your funeral," The Doctor chimed in.

"Doctor," Rose admonished gently.

"We're talking about pirates, here, OK? Almost as mean as they are stupid. They'll take one look at your little blinky blue light and shoot you where you stand."

"Somethin' you maybe should have thought of when you hired 'em," The Doctor pointed out.

"Yes, yes, I made a mistake. Can we move on?" Jack implored acerbically.

"Yep!" The Doctor chimed cheerfully just as the light above the door turned green and the panel slid aside. There was shouting from inside the bridge and within a heartbeat, two laser blasts sizzled above their heads, scoring the wall behind them as the three ducked and dove for cover on either side of the open door.

"Are you insane!?" Jack shouted. Before Rose or The Doctor could respond, a voice from inside answered.

"S'at you, Jack?" came a low, gruff voice with a thick Cornish accent.

"Yeah it's me," he groused back, not missing a beat. Gradually, Jack stood up and edged closer to the opening, the crippled blaster held firmly in both hands, "What the hell are you doing in there? I thought we had a deal."

"Deal wasn't to my liking," the voice responded simply, "Decided to maximize my profits."

"Well, why didn't you say so?" Jack asked, "I'm all about profitability. Why don't you let me come inside and we can negotiate a new deal. A better deal." There was no immediate answer, and for several breaths, the three stood still outside the open door to the bridge; Jack taking cover on one side, Rose and The Doctor on the other.

"I don't think so, Jack," came the reply, and they could all hear the smile in the man's voice, "Now, me and the boys, we'll be off if you don't mind. Waiting on the other side to collect the pieces. Doyle, the controls." Seconds later, they heard the report of a blaster, and Jack swung around the corner, charging inside.

"Jack!" Rose shouted, following him with The Doctor quick on her heels. Inside, Jack had paused to get his bearings, and beyond him Rose could see three rather dodgy-looking men dressed in ragged, mismatched space suits. Jack launched himself forward, clearly making to tackle one, if not all of them. Rose and The Doctor watched as the pirates faded and disappeared, swallowed by a pale blue light as Jack staggered to a reluctant stop, dropping his shoulders in defeat.

"Dammit," he swore to himself, spinning around to take in their surroundings.

"S'all right," Rose attempted to console him, stepping forward, "The Doctor's good with teleports. He can reverse it."

"S'no point," The Doctor spoke up from behind her, "The engines are at 97% cycle. We need to shut them down. 'S better they're not here shootin' at us." Rose turned to see he was scanning the broad control panel that fronted the windows from which she could see the expanse of the observation deck and the nebula beyond. It didn't take an engineer to see much of the twenty-foot long collection of gauges, levers, and switches had been ripped apart or blasted. Here and there, a diagnostic screen was left intact while adjacent to them, gaping holes emitted thin trails of smoke and occasional bursts of sparks.

"Why'd they do this?" Rose breathed as Jack and The Doctor converged on the ships damaged controls, "How're they gonna fly it with the controls broken?" Neither man answered her immediately, but as The Doctor managed to get some limited response from the monitor that had previously displayed the progress of the fission engines, he bowed his head.

"What, what is it?" Jack asked, abandoning a section of frayed wires and partially collapsed grating to crowd in beside Rose and The Doctor.

"Navigation has been disabled completely. I can't get any response from the computer, only status readings. They don't mean to pilot the ship at all. They mean to send it through the wormhole without coordinates, without computer guidance."

"But, that'll tear the ship apart," Jack pointed out, "Why bother – oh." Rose glanced frantically between the two; The Doctor working frantically at the monitor and Jack stunned into silence, his sentence left hanging.

"'Oh?' What 'oh?' What is it?"

"Rose, I need you to look along the wall behind us for the mainframe cupboard. Should be a metal door with all sorts of warnin's posted." The Doctor said by way of answer. Sensible of the gravity of the situation, she didn't push her line of questioning and instead turned around and started walking the length of the wall behind them until she came to a heavy steal door with authoritative-looking yellow and black signage. Rose grabbed the handle and pulled open the door only to be greeted by a billow of black smoke and the dizzying stench of burning wires.

"Doctor," Rose choked out as she spun away from the destroyed mainframe, violent coughs wracking her body. The Doctor rushed to her side, taking her shoulders and supporting her as she wheezed.

"That's it, then," The Doctor said with a resignation that scared Rose more than anything they'd encountered. As she took in fresh air and the coughing abated, she glanced up at him and her heart sank. The expression she saw reminded her of the look on her first Doctor's face back on the Gamestation; the look of defeat he'd had as he'd read the diagnostics and realized the delta wave couldn't possibly be refined before the Dalek fleet arrived. It was a moment of blind, mind-numbing terror before The Doctor turned his attention to her, gray-blue eyes like an anchor for her panicked thoughts.

"Without the mainframe," he explained, taking her shoulders more firmly in his hands, "Without computer-guided navigation, the wormhole will tear this ship apart, down to the molecules. All they have to do is wait on the other side with a molecular sieve to gather anything valuable, then reconstitute it, and sell it."

"What about the engines? Can't we just shut down the engines like ya said?" she asked, fighting tooth and nail to maintain her strength.

"Not without the computer. I can't repair this, not before they've cycled up and opened the wormhole. Rose," The Doctor struggled a moment, his mouth open and no words coming out, "We can escape. We can make it to the TARDIS, but we can't... There isn't time to..."

"We can't save them," Rose finished for him, her voice steadier than she could have hoped.

"I don't know what to do, Rose. I can't..." The Doctor's voice broke, and he couldn't decide how he planned to finish that sentence. Indecision warred on his face as 'I can't leave them,' and 'I can't lose you,' battled for dominance. Jack stood stunned, watching it unfold as the reality of the situation sunk and settled in his gut like an anvil. The ship was doomed, they were all doomed, but the three of them could escape; and in the midst of it all stood this stoic, severe man clinging to this brilliant, brave woman. He knew he couldn't leave.

"We try everything," Rose insisted, meeting his gaze without hesitation, "We stay, and we fight, like we always do. Together." The moment that last word passed her lips, Rose knew she was lost. _This_ was her Doctor. Everything she'd done, everything she'd been had led her here; and at the same time that her heart grieved what had been, the man she had loved in her youth, it glowed in the infinite knowledge that she was right where she was supposed to be. They would go down fighting. Together.

"Hey, guys," Jack said, shaking them both from the moment, "Not to interrupt, but... just how much processing power to we need to trigger an emergency shutdown?" In his hand, he held a metal device no more than eight by five inches and maybe an inch deep. The data drive.


	8. Chapter 8

**Obligatory Disclaimer:** I do not own Doctor Who.

**Author's Note:** I am... SO sorry. I mean it. Two weeks is ridiculous. Finally, this is the last chapter for this episode! What is it about spring? Anyway, the first chapter for Episode VII _should_ be up... soon. I hesitate to make any promises.

**Doctor Who: Parallax – The Lion's Roar **The Doctor, Rose, and Jack find themselves in Alexandria in 40 BCE. They are brought to the court of Cleopatra where they discover the palace is starting to disappear, block by block.

**Royslady51:** All the best people are a little screwed up. :D **ran0neechan: **Thank you so much, and glad you enjoyed it! **Hibari heza:** Had to give props to the "I could save the world but lose you" scene. One of my all time favorites. **Blue Stone Shining Wolf:** You got it exactly on the nose. "The one who will tell her the full truth and go down with her." *le sigh* **ninthsgirl: **So glad you're still enjoying it, especially with my flakiness of late. Let's be honest, I just _had_ to have Jack still be Jack, regardless of the universe. **Mauve Guest: **You're absolutely right, no matter the universe, if Jack runs across the Ninth Doctor and Rose, he'll step up big. **Dreamcatcher49:** Let's be honest, Jack has to be a part of the team. I couldn't just give Rose and Nine more episodes, I had to put Team TARDIS back together. As it should be. **Musicalocelot:** Really, considering my posting hiatus, I can't exactly gripe about one skipped review. :D Thank you so much for sticking with it, hope you enjoy the conclusion! **TK:** Yay for happy feels! She had to figure it out eventually. And I'm so glad you like how the characters have evolved while still being themselves. I totally get how, logistically, they couldn't really get Nine and Rose together on the show, so I had to adjust things to make the obstacles less... obstacle-y. I suspect, given time, Rose and the original Nine would've grown to be much the same as they are here, but that's no matter. Team TARDIS 2.0, away!

* * *

The Doctor's first instinct was to throttle the rakish fool within an inch of his life. After years spent torturing himself over the past and dreading the future, the Time Lord was, for the first time in ages, utterly present in the moment in which he stood. He was lost in the terrible truth of their predicament, lost in the flood of joy and relief brought on by her unfathomable determination, and lost in the fleeting glimpse of something – something he didn't dare define – that flashed through her eyes as she said that one simple word: _together_. All around them, the unruly tempest of time, all of causality and possibility, converged, and he let it wash through him. He felt like he was standing with arms outstretched, smiling in the face of the maelstrom, anchored by this mad, brave little human. As outside words broke through, he spun around to confront the mouthy conman who dared interrupt the last moments he would have with her.

The Doctor's mouth fell open to berate Jack; his acerbic, clever words made all the sharper by heightened focus and blind desperation. Then, as his mind caught up and his vision cleared, the verbal barrage died on his lips. The shameless rogue's charm and artifice had been abandoned, and all that stood before him was this ape in an undoubtedly stolen tuxedo offering that which he valued most in the universe. His hands were steady, his eyes sharp and questioning, and his easy escape forgotten. The Doctor felt Rose step up beside him, felt the catch in her breath as she, too, realized what the former Time Agent had said. The Doctor hadn't yet found the words to replace his intended diatribe, but as the implications of Jack's sacrifice hit him, he realized there simply weren't any.

"Jack," Rose breathed beside him.

"This is a 5 petabyte drive with a 500 terahertz processor," Jack continued, ignoring the clear plea in Rose's voice, "Is that enough?"

"Yeah," The Doctor replied, instinctively, before a broad smile broke across his face, "Yeah, that's plenty." He had to swallow hard, suppressing the urge to hug the handsome idiot as he stepped forward and took the portable drive from Jack's hand. She would live. Rose would live, and so would everyone else on board.

"Great," Jack offered an equally broad, charming smile. Jack's gaze darted back and forth as neither the severe 'doctor' nor the lovely Rose made any move for several seconds, "Maybe we should get on that."

"Right!" The Doctor proclaimed, shaking himself from his introspection. He spun around and began searching for the nearest undamaged terminal. Rushing to the console, he set the drive down and began pulling apart the plates and panels that protected the wiring. Catching on quickly, Jack came to his aide, the two of them disassembling a wide expanse of the console to reveal the wiring underneath. Rose stood just behind them, unbidden tears brimming in her eyes as she watched them work, her gaze darting to the cycle meter displayed on the monitor just over The Doctor's left shoulder. At 99.2% cycle, they had a chance. She wasn't going to lose her Doctor. Not just yet, anyway.

"Rose," The Doctor's voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Yes, Doctor?"

"I need you to go to the server cupboard," he declared without turning around, "there should be a series of breakers; one big one and a bunch of little ones. Switch off all the minor breakers and, when I tell you, throw the main breaker. Got that?"

"Got it," she replied, already standing in front of the bank of disabled servers. The smoking had stopped, but it still reeked of burnt plastic and overheated metal. The cupboard wasn't deep, but there was just enough room for her to stand inside it, and she immediately found the breaker box on the narrow wall to her right. Just as he'd said, there was one large breaker underneath which lay three rows of smaller breakers, some of which were already tripped. Quickly, she ran down the rows, switching off each breaker.

"Have you got it?" The Doctor called to her.

"Yeah, all but the main breaker."

"Fantastic!" he declared with clear confidence, "Now, in order to revert control to the portable drive we need to shut everything down. I'm goin' to count down from three, ready?"

"Yeah," was all Rose could manage as she laid her hand on the main breaker switch and tightened her grip.

"Three... two... one... NOW!" Rose responded on instinct, pulling down on the breaker without a single thought. The lights in the control room immediately went out.

"Now what?" she asked, taking her hand off the breaker and taking a step back. Outside the bank of windows she could see the ship's deck had gone dark, as well, and the only light remaining was the dim glow of infant stars and the swirling shades of lavender and orange in the nebula beyond.

"The drive is connected, switch the main breaker back on," The Doctor instructed, and Rose tore her gaze from the spectacular sight beyond the bridge. She immediately grabbed the switch and threw it into the 'on' position, not letting go and not drawing a single breath until, several seconds later, the lights in the control room began to flicker on. She heard Jack whoop in celebration and The Doctor release a manic laugh.

"We've done it, Rose!" The Doctor crowed, and she released a pent-up breath at his exclamation, resting her head against the breaker panel. "The engines are cycling down." Rose half laughed, half sobbed in relief, and finally took her hand off the breaker to wipe away a handful of tears.

"What 'bout the rest?" she asked once she'd composed herself, "Do I switch everything on?"

"Pro'bly a good idea," The Doctor replied breezily, "Start with the shields, would ya?" Rose shook her head, smiling at the daft alien.

"Yeah, maybe a good idea" she muttered to herself.

* * *

The Doctor, Rose, and Jack stood in the entryway to the grand ballroom, watching the stunned occupants recover from their bizarre ordeal. Several had lain down on the dance floor, panting and sobbing in relief while still others sat at the surrounding tables in various stages of disbelief. Though Rose spotted Gunnison, red-faced and sweating as he leaned against one of the port side windows, she didn't see Loli or Kevin, and she hoped the pair had made good their escape as soon as the signal had been killed. She did, however, find Deloris Walter holding Gina's hand as the two sat at a table and the latter took large gulps of water. A few tables away, Mrs. Pace was fanning herself with a linen napkin while Sir Frederick Roth sat with his elbows on his knees, gently shaking his head.

"Everybody lives," Rose said softly, the words issuing from her lips without conscious thought. Realizing what she'd said, she looked up at The Doctor, standing on her left, to see he was looking down at her with those devastating gray eyes and a soft, almost disbelieving smile. She took his hand, threading her fingers through his and squeezing tight, "Jus' this once."

"Should we go in?" Jack asked. Once the fission engines had been shut down and a distress signal issued, the three had rushed down to the port side luxury suite to disable what Jack had referred to as the 'alien dancing gizmo.' There, The Doctor had rigged Jack's sonic blaster to self-destruct and tucked it inside the device. It was a small blast, certainly not enough to destroy the transmitter, but it did detonate the pressure charge. They'd rushed to the dining hall to confirm that this signal had indeed been interrupted. Now, his question seemed to remind The Doctor of the conman's presence, and he tore his gaze away from Rose, glancing into the dining room once more before shaking his head.

"No," he said, simply, "The rescue ship is on its way from Victoria. Too many questions. Time to go." Without further explanation, The Doctor turned away, and Rose followed. For a second, Jack stood still, glancing between the grand dining room and the retreating backs of the enigmatic couple who'd just saved the great ship and all aboard her. There was no real reason to follow them; the job was done. However, as he watched them continue down the corridor, hand-in-hand, they seemed at once so content and so very alone. They were only two, against the universe, and suddenly Jack couldn't bear the thought of it.

"Hey, guys, wait up!"

* * *

"_This_ is your ship?" Jack asked, the incredulity thick in his voice as The Doctor pulled out a rather ordinary looking key and unlocked the door to the damnable blue box that had so confounded Jack earlier. Rose stood next to the Time Agent, a secretive smile on her lips.

"Welcome to the TARDIS," The Doctor answered, not turning around but instead opening the door and walking inside, "Come on, then." Jack looked at Rose, eyebrows raised in question, and she swayed gently on her feet, her tongue peeking between her teeth as she smiled just before following her companion inside without a word.

"Don't you think it's a bit..." Jack began, following like a lost puppy in her puzzling wake. The notion of huddling together in a tiny wooden box wasn't exactly distasteful, though it was abundantly clear he hadn't a chance with either of them (he had to admit that 'doctor' fellow was really quite striking when he wasn't utterly terrifying). As he stepped through the door, however, his words fell away and he stopped short. Inside, there was a cavernous control room lined in bare coral struts and rows of lights with a cylindrical console set in the center of the room. The steal ramp on which he stood rose to a deck of bare metal grating, and opposite the console stood a battered jump seat.

"I'm changin' outa' this dress," Rose announced, one hand on the railing as she took off her heels before stepping on to the grating, "You two play nice." For his part, Jack barely noticed her departure, enamored as he was with the luminescent column and the array of random buttons, switches, and – was that a service bell?

"This is incredible," Jack mused, approaching the console under the watchful eye of The Doctor, "How is this – Where did you –"

"Humans," The Doctor scoffed, "Such an articulate race." For the first time, Jack tore his attention away from the remarkable ship and regarded the man who'd so unceremoniously invited him on board. He made a show of manipulating the controls of the ship, but he was watching Jack carefully. He had a gift for being downright unnerving.

"And you're not human," Jack surmised.

"Alas, he's clever," The Doctor replied with a sardonic grin. The tall, lean man abandoned his pretense of work and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning his hip against the console.

"And this ship, this – TARDIS?"

"Stands for Time And Relative Dimension In Space."

"Time? It travels in time?" Jack clarified.

"Jus' like your Vortex Manipulator," The Doctor confirmed, "Only, I know what I'm doin'."

"It's bigger on the inside," Jack observed, glossing over the obvious dig. The other man's face fell stern and he turned away, resuming his fiddling.

"You'd better be," he growled, and before Jack could respond, he continued, "I'm The Doctor, by the way."

"Doctor what?"

"Jus' 'The Doctor,'" he replied with apparent cheer, though it was obvious he answered that particular question frequently.

"And Dr. Rubble?" Jack asked. She still hadn't returned, and he secretly hoped his alien host might illuminate just how the mysterious young woman knew Jack. He was surprised when The Doctor's immediate response was a snort of laughter.

"'S not her real name," The Doctor almost smiled, "She's Rose. Rose Tyler. She's human, like you. "

"Right," Jack nodded. He paused a moment, then, eying the other man, "And you two are..."

"Jus' mates," he supplied, a bit too quickly. When Jack's eyebrows shot up and a disbelieving grin lit up his face, The Doctor rolled his eyes, "Friends. We're jus'... friends."

"Right, the whole 'British' thing," Jack acknowledged, feeling very much like he'd both won and lost at the same time, "Why does an alien who looks strikingly human have a British accent, anyway?"

"I don't look human," The Doctor protested, looking properly affronted, "You apes happen to resemble us, tha's all."

"Doesn't answer my question," Jack pointed out.

"D'you want to see what's left on this drive or not?" It was hard to ignore the arrogant smirk on that angular face, and Jack was taken well and truly off guard for a moment.

"What?" he finally asked, and The Doctor might have taken another swipe at his verbal acuity, but the look of surprise and hope on the erstwhile conman's face softened his demeanor.

"The cycle-down protocols didn't require the full capacity of the drive," The Doctor explained carefully, "A little more than half the data is still intact, only..."

"Only you don't know what's still there and what's been erased," Jack finished for him.

"I'm sorry," he said, earnestly, "There wasn't time to select expendable files. I wouldn't've known what to look for if there was."

"No, I know, don't worry about it. It's..." Jack's facade slipped a bit, then, allowing a sliver of his genuine self, his former self, to show through, "Thank you."

"Thank you for what?" Rose asked, stepping into the console room in her pink Chuck Taylors, olive green cargo trousers, and a black bespoke blouse.

"Nothin'," both men spoke at once, and she regarded them both skeptically before continuing toward the console.

"Ah, Rose, why don't you take her into the Vortex. I'm off to get changed," The Doctor proclaimed before she could question them further. He headed for the corridor before turning around to point an accusatory finger at his new companion, "Don't you touch anythin'." Jack glanced at Rose standing before the console, already working busily, and wondered which, exactly, The Doctor was referring to. Both, he suspected. 'Just friends,' indeed.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Jack assured with a winning smile. The Doctor gave him a withering look, and just as he turned to leave, the ship bucked violently, sending Jack sprawling onto the floor and The Doctor into the railing along the ramp.

"Rose!" The Doctor shouted.

"I'm all right!" she assured, quickly resuming her position after being thrown onto the jump seat.

"What the hell was that?" Jack asked, using the nearby railing to climb to his feet.

"Nothin'," Rose smiled, "Still learnin' is all. Forgot to engage the polarity... phase... thing. Really, it's fine." Jack stared at her a moment, dumbfounded.

"Oh, good. I survived bloodthirsty interstellar pirates to die at the hands of a student driver."

* * *

**Footnote:**

"Every saint now has a past

So may the sinners' future last

Every ghost still has a haunt

Where he or she feels they belong

All possessing tortured souls

Confessing all that's yet to be

Saints and sinners are

Lunatics, a vicious breed

So Armageddon here we come

Who are the chosen ones

Consequences who you've been

For in damnation Satan grins"

**-Flogging Molly:** Saints And Sinners


End file.
